


Written in the scars of our hearts

by DeyaAmaya



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Abduction, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Changelings, Darkest Part of the Forest AU, Dreamwalking, Embedded Images, Exorcisms, Exy is here but very minor, F/F, F/M, Loads of Angst, M/M, Memory Loss, Neil and Jean are best friends don't @ me, Renison if you squint, Slavery, a bit of smut, as a treat, fae, sethxallison if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:49:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23256460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeyaAmaya/pseuds/DeyaAmaya
Summary: For years, Jean endured Riko's abuse, until it wasn’t bearable anymore. He kept trying to escape and failed each time. At one point, he tried to starve himself.The Alderking came, in all his terrifying red.They took Jean to Fairfold, tied Jean up and brutally slashed the ties between his body and soul. His spirit left in agony in Fairfold, a little town in the middle of nowhere. His body and mind were chained to the whims (and tortures) of Riko.
Relationships: Jeremy Knox/Jean Moreau, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 19
Kudos: 50
Collections: AFTG Reverse Big Bang 2020





	1. When we go crashing down we come back every time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [solelystarling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/solelystarling/gifts), [makebelieveanything](https://archiveofourown.org/users/makebelieveanything/gifts).



> Written with Finn/solelystarling’s prompt#07 and Makebelieveanything/Madison’s skillful beta, this fic is largely a Darkest Part of the Forest AU, but not completely. The original prompt changed a lot of things, and if you squint you might find some Stardust!  
> The timeline might seem confusing, and I request that you pay attention to the changes in POV. More than anything, I hope to take you on a journey through Fairfold, through the lives of Jeremy, Jean, Andrew and Neil, and see how their lives tangle with the fae.

Boarded up windows rattled with a deafening volume accompanied by the enraged howl of a thousand banshees, furniture being hurled from one end of the room to the other, and surrounding it all, a purple miasma smelling like rotten eggs. When did this become Jeremy's life?

Right now he could've been miles away at USC, taking a cozy afternoon nap between his classes and practice, but oh no, he just had to say yes to the newest exorcism request sitting in his mail. 

The ghost (spirit? poltergeist?) in question had been haunting an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Fairfold. The haunting actually didn’t hurt anyone, the villagers were used to ignoring the howls and crashes at all hours of the day, but one girl had a different idea. 

"He's in pain," the girl named Renee had told Jeremy when he called for more information. "Please, help him." So he came to this little nowhere town and let her lead him to this warehouse in the middle of a gloomy forest.

Hiding behind cockroach-infested crates while the beams overhead showered him with dust and more insects, Jeremy wished he'd ignored her plea. 

The spirit really did sound to be in pain, though. He'd been like that even before Jeremy showed up, screaming something or other in French.

"May the soul trapped here find eternal peace," Jeremy tried again. "And may-" 

"You know I'm not dead, so-"

Jeremy startled and dropped his handful of smoking sage. Squinting through the miasma, he finds the owner of the voice, upon the overhanging walkway, vibrating with anger. _Gotcha_.

Jeremy felt around his pocket for the special spray, a mix of powdered sage, holy water, and lavender oil. He starts another chant, this time in Latin, and vigorously sprays the miasma with the special mix.

Nothing happens.

"This is a nightmare," he mutters. That was his most potent banishing ingredient, and it was so expensive! The ghost seemed angrier now, the miasma making it even harder for Jeremy to breathe, making him dizzy.

Retreat, he thought. I have to retreat. But as he darted out of his hiding place, a tendril of purple miasma caught his ankle and bodily threw him out of a broken window.

Pain and shock made Jeremy immobile for a few long minutes as he lay on the overgrown grass, gasping for breath. He heard light footsteps coming his way, and a round, anxious face entered his field of vision. 

"Did you manage to free him?" Renee Walker asked.

Jeremy carefully sat up, taking stock of his injuries. Nothing broke (including his vials of potion and holy water), but there was a bleeding gash on his forehead. Jeremy straightened his back and put a no-nonsense smile on his face.

"Renee, is there something about the ghost that you forgot to tell me?"

She smiled ruefully, fidgeting with the end of one of her pigtails. "I didn’t think it was important?"

Jeremy let out a long sigh.

"Let's go, you’re buying me lunch, and you’re going to talk." 

* * *

Fairfold makes Jeremy nauseous.

The little town is quaint, like any other little, out of the way town in SoCal. It's modern enough, with a tiny Starbucks and McDonald's standing side by side. The problem is, it reeks of the fae. 

Even the overpowering greasy aroma of a burger meal couldn’t hide the smell. Fairfold can't even be properly called Ironside. Jeremy had spotted at least one person with pointy ears while he followed Renee to the McDonald's, not to mention the small bowls of milk that sat beside every doorstep, offerings for the local fae. 

The fae might have a hand in why the ghost was so… sticky…

Renee had a burger meal in front of her, just like Jeremy. But while he all but inhaled the food, she chewed the end of a braid. Jeremy ought to be gentle with her. She was just a nice kid in a fae infested town, looking out for the resident poltergeist. 

“Jean isn’t really bad," Renee said quietly. "He's in pain. I thought you'd be able to help, even if he's not…"

"Not what?" 

"A ghost," Renee muttered, averting her eyes from his. Jeremy felt a vein twitch on his temple.

"If he's not a ghost then I can't help him, sweetie. I'm an exorcist. I don't work with complicated spirits like his," he levelled a stern look at her. "You should've told me that he isn’t a regular spirit, by the way. I could've been seriously hurt." Or dead, he doesn’t tell her.

Renee doesn’t answer for a few seconds, and when she looks up at Jeremy, her eyes are anguished.

"Please," her voice is choked, but strong. "He's my best friend. Please don’t leave him here to suffer. "

Ah shit, Jeremy thought. He's really too nice for his own good. He sighs in defeat.

"Tell me everything."

Jeremy was an idiot if he thought Renee was going to tell him anything useful.

What he got out of her was she became best friends with the angry spirit named Jean, who also seemed to take a liking to her, who eventually told her that he was not a ghost. He was still alive, but his body was someplace far away. That's it.

"That's it? Are you sure you can't tell me anything else?"

Renee frowned. "You should ask him. It really isn’t my story to tell."

Jeremy stared. Talk. To the extremely violent ghost. Sure, why not! 

As if hearing his internal screams, Renee fidgeted. "He's really not that bad. I'll accompany you next time?"

"Next time!... Look, Renee. I know he's important to you, but I can't keep slacking off on my studies and exy. Plus it’s expensive to stay here any longer than a day."

Renee brightened up noticeably. "I can help with that! You can stay at my house. I'm sure Stephanie- my foster mother- won't mind!"

"I really shouldn’t -!"

"I insist! You're doing me a huge favour, it’s the least I could do!"

"I- ahh okay. But I need to leave today," watching Renee's face fall, Jeremy hurried to add, "I'll be back next week. I wasn’t lying when I told you about the school, and exy. I need good grades, and I was just made captain of my exy team. Weekends are the best I can give you."

Renee nodded slowly. "I get the exy part. I'm starting as a goalie this season with the Palmetto Foxes."

That information was like a splash of cold water to Jeremy's face. Performance issues aside, the Foxes were almost always bad news. The idea of someone as sweet as Renee fitting into their team was insane. 

But maybe, just maybe, Jeremy's assessment of her was wrong. Maybe under that picture-perfect Christian girl veneer, Renee Walker was made of a tougher metal.

"I guess I'll see you next week, then," Jeremy smiled and hightailed it out of Fairfold. 

* * *

Raucous laughter and the smell of burning food finally dragged Jeremy out of slumber. He'd slept badly, nightmares and meaningless chants plagued him all night. Not to mention the pain of being thrown on the ground like a ragdoll. 

The mirror hung on the door of his closet showed vivid purple bruises. One on the right hip, another on the same shoulder. Jeremy grimaced and pulled on a long-sleeved shirt over his sweatpants, walking out to see who was massacring his kitchenette. 

"Hey Al, can you get me a couple of Tylenol?" he asked the menace trying to salvage some charred to hell pancakes out of Jeremy's good frypan, goddamn it. 

"What happened?" 

Jeremy turned to see Laila, still half asleep, curled up on his couch. He stretched, winced and walked over to join her.

"Poltergeist beat you up again?" she commented on his pinched face.

"Not a poltergeist. It’s a spirit. But like, alive?" How did one explain something so weird?

"Fairfold is a dangerous place," Alvarez commented, finally giving up on food and coming to join them, sandwiching Jeremy in the middle. "You gotta be careful. What if the fae tricked you somehow?"

Jeremy frowned. "Not a chance. I carry all the stuff that repels them, iron and rowan and everything. I ran out of holy water though. Gotta replenish before I go back."

"You're going back?" Laila looked from Jeremy to Alvarez, both sporting troubled frowns. 

Jeremy never goes back for an exorcism. Either he does the work at one go, or gives it up as too hard for him to handle, at which point the clients ask other exorcists. 

"It's complicated," he whined. "I don’t like it either. The spirit is a complete douchebag. But… I want to see the end of it, I guess."

* * *

The week passed in a blur of classes, assignments, practice, and Jeremy getting the hang of being the captain to a team which, even though they were well-behaved, were still a bunch of typical college kids. By the time he reached the Walker residence in Fairfold, dusk had fallen and his brain was numb with exhaustion.

Renee shot out of the house as soon as he parked his Toyota. She all but clawed the overnight bag out of his hand and darted back, giving him no other choice but to follow.

"What's the-"

Renee cut him off before he could actually ask."It's not safe for you after dark. The fae leave us alone, but tourists are fair play," she hissed at him, eyes bright with fear.

A woman exited the living room and joined the two where they stood near the door still.

"Renee, dear. Please let our guest catch a breath," she said mildly. "I'm Stephanie Walker. You must be Mr Knox?"

"Jeremy is fine," he was distracted. "Is it true about the fae folk? What Renee said?"

"Why don’t you freshen up and get comfortable in your room first? We can talk over dinner," Stephanie smiled. Jeremy's stomach decided to growl at that moment.

"Yes," he agreed. "That's a fine idea." 

* * *

Fairfold wasn’t always this dangerous. A few decades ago, people here lived harmoniously with the fae. They left out bowls of milk and honey, gave tributes of fruit and flowers to the Alderking said to rule the folk inhabiting the woods around Fairfold. In return, the fae only played harmless tricks on tourists. 

Food tasted better in Fairfold, people said, infused as it was with enchantment. Dreams were more vivid. Artists were more inspired and their work more beautiful. People fell more deeply in love, music was more pleasing to the ear, and ideas came more frequently than in other places.

But a couple of years later, outsiders came and disrupted the peace. They did something, used the layline running through Fairfold to do something so horrific the fae no longer had goodwill towards humans. At best, they left the townspeople alone. At worst, they abducted and killed tourists. 

Jeremy tossed and turned all night, thoughts around Fairfold and Jean churning in his head. By the time he fell into a fitful sleep, the sky was already starting to lighten. 

By the time Jeremy made it to the warehouse, the sun was at its peak. The longest day of the year, the sun was glaring down with full force. Jeremy fervently hoped the fae folk wouldn’t interfere with work or worse, abduct him.

Just bursting into the warehouse with burning sage wouldn’t work. Jeremy didn’t want a murderous spirit. He wanted a pliant one. He rubbed a few drops of lavender oil on his pulse points and took a step inside, only to be thrown backward. Not hard enough to fall on his ass, but enough to have the air knocked out of him. 

Jeremy took a break. He spread a blanket (borrowed from Stephanie) on the grass and sat down to have a couple of sandwiches (made by Stephanie). After half an hour, he tentatively approached the warehouse again, carefully holding a pain au chocolat in front of him. As far as bribing goes, it was pretty half-assed.

It worked. 

Jeremy was finally able to step into the warehouse unscathed (so far). Though the spirit materialising at an arm's distance nearly gave him a stroke.

Neither moved or spoke for a tense minute. Jeremy relished the chance to observe a spirit from so close. Washed out and monochrome, Jean was nonetheless worryingly opaque, unlike the ghosts Jeremy usually exorcised. He was at least a head taller than Jeremy, eyebrows set into a vicious frown. 

"Your attempts to exorcise me are pathetic," the spirit finally muttered. His voice had a faraway echo that rang in Jeremy's ears like tinnitus. "Did Renee not tell you what I am? You can't get rid of me with your fumes and waters. Why have you come back?" The end of the sentence was nearly roared into Jeremy's face, who flinched, but didn’t back down.

"Renee told me. She asked me to help you."

"You can't help me," the spirit sneered. "Unless you can kill my wayward vessel, but there's no way you’re a killer. You’re too soft." The last word was spat like a curse and Jeremy's heart sank.

"There has to be another way," Jeremy tried. "Renee and I could try to get you and your vessel together again?"

"And then what?" The spirit muttered, oddly defeated. "They'll separate me again, and punish me worse. Go away, Knox. You cannot help me."

Jean seemed to withdraw, not responding to Jeremy at all. Renee called around 4 pm to remind him to get back. Jeremy decided to call it a day.

He made sure to leave the chocolate inside the warehouse. 

* * *

Something about this whole situation grated at Jeremy. Who were 'they', that Jean claimed had separated his body and soul? And why would someone do that? 

Also, the way he said 'Knox', rang a bell in Jeremy's mind. He had a sneaking suspicion that he knew who Jean really was, but the possibility was too horrific for his mind to wrap around. 

Stephanie agrees to take him to the town gym when he'd become too antsy to sit around. After half an hour mindlessly sweating out, he's feeling better. His brain works better too.

"Jeremy," Kevin sounds genuinely happy to get a call from him. Jeremy sits on the Walkers' porch, talking quietly and letting his eyes flit aimlessly over the woods circling the backyard. He lets Kevin's exy-talk soothe him into a sense of normalcy.

"Kevin," he interrupted his friend mid-sentence, "I need your help with something."

Kevin stayed quiet for half a minute. "I know you’re in Fairfold."

"Do you know this place? Why I came here?"

"I'm guessing it has something to do with the Minyards."

Jeremy's eyebrows rise into his hairline. "Minyards? No? What do they have to do with Fairfold?"

"It's their hometown, and I'm not saying anything more since I've already shoved my foot in my mouth," Kevin mutters. 

Jeremy files away that information to be used later. "No, I just wanted to ask something about one of your old teammates, Jean Moreau?"

Kevin's sharp intake of breath is audible through the speakers, and Jeremy hopes he isn’t still scared enough to talk about the Ravens. He's been at Palmetto for over six months now, but trauma is trauma. 

"I don’t… we haven’t been friends since he started playing. Riko took him away for a weekend and-" Kevin's voice broke. "He just never spoke to me, or anyone afterward."

Jeremy knew Kevin hated himself for this. For leaving Jean behind. But this was crucial information. He needed a bit more.

"Kevin, I have just one more question. Do you think the Moriyamas have ties with the fae?"

From the loud clatter, Kevin actually drops his phone. He's brave enough to pick it up, though.

"How- Jeremy, how do you-? Listen, you can't mess with them, they're bad news!"

"I know, Kevin!" Jeremy says. "I've exorcised enough murdered people to know what crime families to stay away from."

Also, Kevin is quite obviously half-fae. He tries to ignore that part of him. But Jeremy can tell. He can always tell. It was part of his training and he's had time to hone the skill after joining the Trojans. Exy attracts fae and half-fae players quite often.

Kevin doesn’t answer even after a minute. He's probably on the verge of a panic attack. Jeremy feels pity for whoever has to pick up his pieces.

"Thank you, Kevin," Jeremy softens his voice. "You have no idea how helpful you've been tonight."

* * *

The next day, Jeremy had to leave early. He's called for an emergency exorcism close to campus, and he goes. It's fairly routine work. Jeremy wrangles the angry spirit and sends him on his way within an hour. He wishes Jean was this simple.

His mother calls around the middle of the week, worried about his increased requests of rowan wood and holy water. 

"Do you remember all the precautions? Do you need me to mail you the list?"

"No, no, Mom!" Jeremy is appalled that his mom thinks he'd forget to be cautious in a place like Fairfold. "I remember, I promise."

He sleeps little, that week. He eats all his meals with his laptop open before him, going through game after game. His eyes droop with exhaustion, but his mind is cleared. 

Jeremy keeps his promise to his mom. Next Saturday before setting foot out of the Walkers' house, he turns his socks inside out, makes sure to put little sachets of oatmeal and grave dirt in his pockets along with his usual supplies, and wears all his iron rings. Renee notices and offers him a locket made of rowan wood. It's shaped like a four-leaf clover. 

Her worry felt as gentle as his mother's, and he offered her a hug. 

"The Alderking's court is cruel," she tells him. "Please be safe."

There are protections placed around the warehouse, he notices. Some old and rusty, stocky pikes sunk into the soil, apparently made of iron and etched with runes. Some much newer, flecks of oatmeal sitting on the grass like out of time snow. Renee's work, Jeremy thinks.

The fae smell was a little less noticeable inside the protection, he notices. And then he's stepping inside the warehouse and his thoughts crowd to a single point.

"Moreau," he greets the spirit. 

A colourless eyebrow arched, Jean murmured, "Took you long enough, Captain Sunshine."

The Jean Moreau that bolstered the Ravens' defense was a wall of a man, unbending and almost robotic in his precision. Spirit Jean did look like him, close-cropped hair and severe cheekbones, wiry muscles. But their countenance was completely different. Jeremy had never met him on the court. 

Jeremy remembers the tape that held Jean's debut. He was a maelstrom of a player, his face alive with motion. His whole demeanour, not to mention his playing style- changed overnight. One day he was a frowny teenager, the next game rolled in and he was a ruthless, expressionless hunk of stone. 

"My bad," Jeremy inclines his head a little. "You're pretty unmistakable, but in my defense, I'm not used to seeing you all black and white."

"No, I suppose you’re used to seeing me in black, red and blue."

The matter of fact mention of the violence Jean's body endures stops Jeremy short. Yet Jean himself seems resigned to the fact. Even as a spirit, Jeremy could see shadows of bruises all over him.

"Why did Moriyama do this to you? To punish you, I got that. But why this way?" Jeremy asks. 

"Because this way, they get to use me," Jean tells him, strangely detached. "While I'm here, stuck, imprisoned, powerless, Riko can put my body to good use. I used to be a liability. I used to protest, fight back. Now…"

"It's horrid, is what it is," Jeremy hisses. "They can't do this to you!"

"I'm property, Knox. They can do whatever they want to me."

"What? What do you mean? People aren’t property!"

"I am," Jean gestures at himself. "My parents made a foolish wish and had to give me up as payment. I belong to the Alderking, who in turn gave me to the Moriyama family to settle some score or other." 

"I'll find you a way to get out of here," Jeremy promised. "There must be some way."

Like the last time, Jean shut off again. "Whatever, Knox." A purple mist began to rise from the floor.

Jeremy, taking his cue, left him alone.

That night, after dinner, Jeremy took Renee to the backyard and told her what Jean had said. She wasn’t surprised at any part of it, as Jeremy had suspected. She'd known already.

"Short of making a wish to the fae in the woods, I saw no other choice but to enlist your help," she said warily. "And before you ask, no, asking the fae is not a good idea, Jeremy. Do not even think about it."

Her eyes, haunted, clued Jeremy in that she must've had encounters with the fae, and not good ones. 

The next day, they both go to the warehouse but stop short of the entrance. They spread out.

"What am I looking for?" asks Renee.

"Anything metal with this rune," he shows Renee his notebook. "Remove it."

They work for a couple of hours in the sun, managing to dislodge most of the stocky metal pikes surrounding the place. 

"I dropped rowan into all the holes they left," Renee tells him. Jeremy nods, appreciative. 

"Now let's wait," he tells Renee, who gives him a mischievous smirk he knows is mirrored on his own face. 

Sure enough, in a few minutes, the door of the warehouse creaks open. Jeremy has to squint to see the nearly transparent figure floating there.

"Wha- Renee? Knox? What is this? What have you done?"

Renee goes ahead, to calm him, and tell him what they'd accomplished. By removing the metal runes, Jean can now move out of the warehouse and virtually go anywhere.

"Ghosts need a tether to this world," Jeremy explains to him. "That's why a house, a cemetery, a person, or an object is haunted. You're not a ghost. Your body is already a tether, so you don’t need to be tied to a place. Um, I think."

"He thinks," Jean mutters. "Wait till the Moriyama find out…"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there," Jeremy says, impatient. "Let's see how far you can go."

Laden with Jeremy and Renee's enthusiasm, Jean goes as far as half a kilometre towards Fairfold, then he is gripped with terror and refuses to move any farther. 

Renee leaves to place more rowan inside the warehouse, while Jeremy sprawls under the shade of a tree, taking up the unexpected chance to relax. After a few moments of quiet, Jean places himself next to Jeremy. 

"It's been two years since I've felt- or done- anything human," Jean says, voice low and a bit breathless. "I've missed seeing the sky so much."

Jeremy thinks of all the creature comforts he can't live without, the rich slide of hot chocolate down his throat, the satisfaction of waking up in a warm bed, the simple love of his friends. The fact that Jean had been all alone, deprived of all the minutiae that human life has, makes Jeremy's blood boil with hatred for the Alderking and the Moriyama.

"What's it like, being separated from your body?" he asks Jean, watching his face for any signs of anger or discomfort. There is only a pensive expression.

"It's like… nothing I can explain, honestly. I am here, but I can see what my body can see, hear what it hears, and so on. When it takes a beating, I feel it. But all of it is muted, like looking through murky water."

He must see the horror on Jeremy's face because of his own softens.

"I'm grateful for your help, yours and Renee's. But Knox, I'm a lost cause."

* * *

It's more than a month before Jeremy can come back to Fairfold. As per habit, he goes back to the warehouse, but Jean isn’t there. Jeremy's heart freezes for a bit, then he remembers that Jean can now move about. He abandons the dusty warehouse and ventures outside. He's walking under a gnarly tree when he feels something small and hard pelting his head and shoulders. Startled, he looks up and spots a pair of smokey white legs dangling off the high branches. Jean glares and shushes him, then beacons him closer.

Years of strength and agility training aids Jeremy to climb up without making a lot of noise. By the time he sits beside Jean, the sky has turned grey with heavy clouds, the air smelling like ozone and there's a hush fallen over the whole forest. It grates on Jeremy's nerves, but when he opens his mouth, Jean shushes him with a hand clapped over his mouth.

The action itself stunned Jeremy to silence, as Jean has never come close enough to do such a thing. More surprising was the light pressure on his lips. 

Jean was touching him.

The spirit was also staring at Jeremy with stark disbelief in his eyes. Could he feel Jeremy's lips against his palm, Jeremy thought dizzily. Jean's lips parted. Jeremy's eyes instantly focused on them.

A loud cackle burst out from underneath the tree. Jeremy's gasp is muffled under Jean's palm, who now looks panicked. Together, they peer down to the rally of fae passing under the tree. 

At first look, they seemed beautiful, but as Jeremy kept looking, anomalies started showing themselves. The cap on that beautiful woman's head wasn't just red, it was red with crusted blood. That boy with luscious blue hair revealed a thousand sharp teeth when he threw his head back in laughter. That fae with diaphanous, pale, green wings had a hollow back. Jeremy shivered and pulled up his legs. 

Jean opened his mouth as the party moved on only to hiss at Jeremy. 

"What are you doing in the forest on a full moon night? Are you insane or just an imbecile?"

Jeremy shrugged. "I've been busy. Forgot about that, sorry."

"You'll lose your life one of these days." 

"Sure," Jeremy sighed, mind stupidly stuck on the electric sensation of Jean touching him. He blinks and Jean manages to slide off the tree branch.

"Come on, Knox."

As they walk through the forest, Jeremy notices that Jean is taking him away from the warehouse. 

"How far can you go now?" he asks. His only answer is a cocky smirk that transforms Jean's voice. It takes half an hour, and Jean's shoulders are bunched with tension, but they're at the edge of town.

"Jean," Jeremy says, awed, "Have you actually gone into the town?"

Jean shrugs nervously. "Once or twice, when the sun is high."

That's when Jean's smokey form is least visible, Jeremy surmises. The spirit is still hesitant. Jeremy tentatively reaches for his hand. It's like smoke but stays in place as Jeremy wraps his fingers around it. 

"Let's go," he says quietly. "Since it’s a full moon night, no one should be out. You won't be seen."

"It's Fairfold, Knox," Jean scoffs. "What does it matter if I'm seen?" 

But his hold tightens around Jeremy's fingers anyway.

Stephanie's eyes are wide when she opens her door to them. 

"So you’re Jean," she says kindly. "Renee's told me so much about you."

Jean doesn’t seem to know what to say. He's rooted just before the door. Stephanie steps closer and wraps him in a hug.

"Thank you for being her friend," she murmurs. Over her shoulder, Jean throws a panicked look at Jeremy.

"I'll show Jean the guest room," Jeremy says a little loudly. He ushers Jean upstairs to the room where he's stayed a few nights before. 

Jean walks around, peering at the knickknacks scattered about. "Doesn’t look like a guest room," he comments. Jeremy smiles sheepishly.

"Yeah, sorry for the mess." A few clothes are scattered at the foot of the bed. Empty herb bottles litter the bedside table, and the bed itself is unmade. Jeremy rushes to tidy up a bit.

"You can take the bed, I'll take the couch downstairs," he tells Jean, then frowns. "Do you sleep though?" 

"Yes, Knox, I sleep," Jean says with a pointed look. "I didn’t know I could, at first… The runes at the warehouse did something. It didn’t let me rest. Now… I can."

Jeremy walked past him to his overnight bag. "I'll just get my toothbrush and-"

"You could stay. After brushing, I mean."

Under Jeremy's questing stare, Jean bristles. "I've not dared to sleep away from the warehouse. If anything happens while I'm asleep, you'll know what to do, since you’re an exorcist and all." 

Jeremy weighed his options in his mind. On one hand, he'd wanted to give Jean privacy and a sense of normalcy. On the other hand, Jean was asking him to stay put and Jeremy was also curious to see how a spirit slept. 

They end up on opposite sides of the bed. There's no wrinkle on the sheets under Jean's form, The bed doesn’t dip under him. There's no warmth coming off him.

And yet, Jeremy is acutely aware of the spirit. Aware of his soft sigh as he rests his head upon the pillow, as he fidgets for a few minutes. Jeremy thinks he's being watched. But soon Jean is asleep. 

The lone window is open wide, letting in air scented with faraway rain and moonlight. It seems so much brighter than the feeble moonlight Jeremy finds back in the city, almost too bright to sleep. He wonders how Jean drifts off so easily, face turned to the window and with Jeremy so close. He watches as Jean's face slackens, the lines around his eyes and lips fall away and Jeremy succumbs to sleep as well, trying to find a word to describe Jean in sleep. 

* * *

Jeremy is tired, Renee is saying. Bullshit, Jeremy says, but she can't seem to hear him. Exy season is especially tough this year, and he's struggling with his studies, she continues.

Well, Jeremy really needs to give her a piece of his mind. But he can't seem to find her anywhere.

He's trying to find a way to save me, isn’t he? That's why he looks so stressed, Jean says and he sounds so sad, Jeremy wants to reach out. Why do you sound so sad? he wants to ask. What's wrong?

He comes awake the second his brain registers it’s a dream, and Jeremy relishes the late morning sunshine spilling across the sheets. He stretches, enjoying the rare moment of peace. Back at USC, he's in a hurry as soon as he's awake. There's always a training to go to, an assignment to hand in, a ghost to banish. He's come to like the Walker household as the only place that gives him a small respite from all of that. 

Heated whispers reach his ears and he blinks out of the pleasant haze of sleep, quietly padding to the door and putting an ear against it, questioning if his dream really was a dream after all. 

"- and Andrew said-"

"Oh so it’s Andrew, now, is it? I thought you said Minyard was a monster!" Jean's furious voice exclaims. 

"I've never called him that," Renee's voice is calm, yet a hint of steel is evident. "That's what the others call him. I would never-"

Jeremy pushes the door open. Jean and Renee are right in front of it, looking agitated. Renee excuses herself and walks downstairs. Jean stares after her and runs a frustrated hand through his hair. 

"Renee told me about Andrew Minyard," Jeremy offers. "They've been sparring, apparently."

"They're already best friends," Jean grouses. "Pretty soon she'll stop coming back to Fairfold altogether."

Ah, that's what it is, Jeremy thinks.

"You'll still be her best friend, Jean," he tells the disgruntled spirit. "People can have more than one best friend, you know? I can be your best friend if you want?"

If anything, that seems to agitate Jean even more. "Who would want you as a best friend, you nuisance," he grumbles. "Besides, I already have another best friend."

"You do?" Jeremy is genuinely surprised. "From the nest? Or the forest?"

"Neither," Jean's smile is full of mischief, Jeremy notices and catalogues it as another thing that makes Jean Moreau insanely attractive. "It's not my secret to tell."

"Okay, keep your secrets," Jeremy says, miffed. They trudge downstairs. The sweet scent of maple syrup instantly makes Jeremy ravenous. He digs in without a second word, listening with half an ear to Renee. She's showing photos of her teammates to Jean, who keeps up a scathing commentary. 

He's polished off the plate and started on the OJ when Renee's worried murmurs register in Jeremy's brain. 

"Jean? What's wrong? Jean?"

Looking up, Jeremy finds Jean still as a statue, eyes blown wide.

"Who is this?" he says in a strangled voice, pointing to one of the photos Renee has strewn about the table. It's a short brunette in Palmetto orange hoodie, clearly unhappy about being photographed.

"It's Neil Josten, our freshman striker. Why?"

Jean's eyes don’t leave the photograph, but now they contain something like relief. 

"He's my best friend."


	2. In my dreams it felt so right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The transition in POV might seem jarring, my apologies. Some canon event are mentioned here, so be prepared for blood, violence, injury, scars and angst. As a compensation, there's a bit of fluff! This is also the biggest chapter out of the whole bunch.

Andrew is 14 years old when a nameless boy starts plaguing his dreams.

It starts like this.

In the back of his mind, Andrew knows he isn't safe, not really.

Cass (mother) is home, he is in the bathroom, deadbolt locked in place, he has a kitchen knife.

But Drake (monster) is home and he will never be safe.

Andrew leans against the bathtub. His mind frays, teetering on the edge. Words drip into his mind amidst all the white noise. Words like Please, liar, brotherly love, abomination, matched set, Aaron, Minyard. He studies the knife. It’s sharp enough. Maybe tonight he'll cut another line down his wrist.

Maybe tonight he'll cut deep enough.

No, he won't. Who would protect Aaron (his real brother) from the monster then?

Right now the knife is his only protection. Andrew clutches it in his palm, unaware of tearing skin and flesh. His mind goes round and round till he falls into an exhausted sleep.

Andrew doesn't know what happens to his mind after that. Maybe all the grief and anger has finally turned him insane. Because he finds himself in the middle of the most ludicrous garden. A dream, he reminds himself.

Much like how he'd slumped against the bathtub, Andrew is now slumped against a tree. Light too bright illuminates a shitload of flowers all around him. Across from him, there’s a girl.

The girl is sprawled in a way Cass would undoubtedly call 'unladylike'. It doesn't seem like the girl gives a fuck about it. She is studying Andrew with an almost hostile air.

"What are you?" she asks.

Not who, but what. Andrew decides to be honest.

"Tired, I'm very tired."

If anything, she looks more hostile. The mess of auburn curls escaping from pigtails and falling over icy blue eyes should make her look about as dangerous as a kitten. But something tells Andrew she is made of sterner stuff.

"What are you, then?"

Apparently taken aback by Andrew's counter, she sits up, crossing her legs under the flowery dress. Instead of answering, she scrunches up her face.

"If you don't know what I am, you shouldn't be here."

Really, Andrew is disappointed in his brain. If this mouthy kid is the best scenario conjured up by the useless mass of grey matter, maybe Andrew is better off dead.

Speaking of, he is aware of the knife in his hands. He looks down, so does the girl. She sucks in a breath.

"Are you trying to kill yourself?"

Andrew doesn't bother to answer. The cut isn't too bad, but explaining to Cass will be a pain. And Drake will use every single chance to make the wound worse. The girl leans closer to have a look.

"Don't die," the girl grumbles. "You're gonna have a healthy life. Don't ruin it."

Andrew feels laughter bubble up in his lungs. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Your future. Or one of them, anyway. If you don't fuck things up."

Andrew openly stares. He isn't going to live long by any means. He has too many scars and more on the way.

"If you're my coping mechanism, then I sure won't live long."

"I'm not your coping mechanism! I'm a halfling!"

"What's a halfling?"

"The offspring of a fae and a mortal. Didn't you read folklore at the nursery?"

What nursery? "And what's your name, halfling?"

Apparently, it is the wrong thing to ask. The girl violently flinches and backs away from Andrew. A brief flash of panic crosses over her face.

"I-its Emma."

Liar thinks Andrew. But before he can ask anything else, the sunlight seems to dim. And then he is waking up to Cass's cheerful voice calling him for breakfast. He looks at the knife in his lap. His clothes are stained red. Again.

Andrew gets up, feeling better than he has felt in weeks despite the gash in his palm. In a minute, he will shove his stained clothes in the bottom of the hamper, wear fresh clothes and hide the knife. He will wear the emotionless mask in front of Cass and Drake. But through all of it, he'll keep remembering his bizarre dream and a pair of blue eyes.

* * *

If Cass notices Andrew being absent-minded, she doesn't comment on it. She even makes him take a bag of snacks when he goes out in the afternoon.

Andrew raids the local library for references to faerie. It isn't easy to find out of all the fairytale gibberish. Among a sea of contradictions, he concludes on some solid points.

One: there are two major faerie courts. The Seelie Court and the Unseelie Court. Also called the Summer Court and the Winter Court.

Two: halflings do exist. But information on them is sparse.

Three: fae can’t lie, but they are apt at twisting the truth.

Also, halflings aren't under the no lying rule. Interesting.

Andrew doesn't think for a second that the girl in his dream is anything but an illusion. But he's never read about the fae folk. How did his brain whip up something like this?

When weeks pass and Andrew doesn't have a dream again, he dismisses the whole thing as a coincidence and forgets about the blue eyes.

***

"You again!"

Andrew blinks a few times. He is lying flat on his back, staring at a pre-dawn sky, a handful of stars blinking feebly.

He sits up and almost bumps against someone, staring at him with... black eyes?

Andrew knows it was the girl from his weird dream, but the person sitting in front of him is clearly a boy. The boy has black eyes and a shaved head.

"You're the halfling. Emma, right?" Andrew says.

To his amusement, blood rushes to the boy's face and the eyes flash. Oh, so Andrew's guess was right.

"I'm Alex right now." mumbles the boy.

"And what will you be next month? An alien?"

The hostile face was back. It looked more intense thanks to the sharp cheekbones and shaved head. Andrew wondered why he'd thought of the menace as a girl. Sure, he was pretty as heck, but the eyes had something unmistakably boy.

"Why are you in my head?" asked Andrew. "Is my subconscious telling me I need a friend?"

"This isn't your imagination, dumbass. I'm real."

"Someone who changes name and gender as often as they change clothes can't claim they're real."

That shut him up. He stared at Andrew for a while.

"Mortals don't usually visit my realm more than once, if at all. I already gave you a prediction. Why did you show up again?" The boy, Alex, seemed puzzled.

Andrew remembered his 'prediction'. Some crap about long life and good health.

"Make a better one," he smirked. The boy narrowed his eyes. Andrew could tell he was spoiling for a fight. The agitation inside him so apparent, Andrew could almost smell ozone. Abruptly, the boy shot up and ran away from Andrew.

His abrupt departure freaked Andrew a bit, but he didn't let it show. Instead, he stood up as well.

Like the last time, he was in a garden. The sky was full of the pink glow of a sunrise. He stood up to survey the surroundings better.

Wait.

This wasn't a garden.

This was a cage.

The flowers and trees stretched far, partially obscured by a dense fog though the temperature was comfortably warm. But there was a barbed metal fence not far from where Andrew stood. It covered a piece of land about as big as Cass's house. The fence was high enough that Alex had no chance of escaping.

There was a hammock tied to a tree. Some trees had fruit, although Andrew couldn't recognize any. It seemed to be a cozy enough place.

But it was still a prison.

Alex ran along the perimeter of his cage, going round and round for so long it made Andrew dizzy to look at him. He had an athlete's build, a willowy torso on strong legs, muscles only starting to show up visible under his ragged shorts.

Andrew watches him until he gets bored. Then he settles down on the grass to give his eyes rest. The next time his eyes open, he's back in his bedroom.

* * *

Mary Hatford liked everything meticulous. She wanted Níall to stay down, blend in, not attract attention. Anything out of the ordinary was dangerous.

The boy in Níall's dream was a danger.

But he couldn't be. Níall's wards never allow anyone with ill-will towards him. His dreamscape was the only safe place he's ever known in his life. It was free from his father, his mother, Lola and Romero and-

(And everyone else.)

Níall and his mother had been running for so long that he forgot how to have a friend.

But loneliness was a fair price to pay for safety.

(Wasn't it?)

That's why the boy in Níall's dream was a danger. He wanted to keep the boy, as dangerous he was. But he couldn't.

Attachment of any kind would get him killed. Mary had beat that into him early in their exodus. And Níall would not forget.

Níall still wanted, though. He knew he couldn't stop himself from wanting. What he could do was make sure he was safe, or at least safer. He rummaged into Mary's meager collection of spellbooks and picked out one on wards. He needed to put up extra protection.

****

The protections didn't work. The blond boy kept coming into his dreams.

Níall despaired. But he didn't show it in his face. The boy showed up and stayed for hours: sometimes he looked around, sometimes he smoked. If another person showed up to have their fortune told, Níall whipped up a quick glamour to hide the other boy.

This went for weeks. Níall didn't approach the boy, didn't try to make him leave. In turn, the boy didn't make trouble for him.

* * *

Andrew's first night in juvie went surprisingly well. He'd been in foster homes much worse. This was, in fact, safer than Cass Spear's home.

The boys that came near him despite his murderous scowl were alright, if as broken and messed up as Andrew himself. As far as he could tell, this wasn't any worse than a lot of foster homes he'd been to.

This is okay, he told himself. This way, Drake wouldn't touch Aaron. His brother.

Andrew missed him. Andrew knew it was stupid to miss someone he'd never met, even if it was his twin. He could just look in a mirror. But he yearned for his brother, his family. The thirsty emptiness in his chest was the last thing he felt before he fell asleep that night.

***

Four weeks later, Andrew was back in the recurring dream.

This time, the tumbling curls atop the boy's head were blond, much like Andrew's own. The eyes were green. But he was wearing a dress.

Andrew frowned at him. The boy frowned at his face, blinking. 'What's wrong with your face?'

Andrew's hand flew to his nose, then winced in pain. Apparently, the real-life injuries manifested here too.

Whatever 'here' was. And whoever 'the boy' was.

Answering the question in Andrew's gaze, the boy sighed. "I'm Kieran now."

This was getting ridiculous, Andrew decided. "Tell me your real name."

The boy flinched. "I can't. I barely know you."

"What does that gotta do with anything? It's just a name."

Kieran looked at him like he'd grown a third head. "Do you know nothing of the fae? Wait, don't answer that. Wait here." He stood up and ambled off, rummaging around in a bush, tugging out something and falling back on his ass. Andrew shuffled forward.

He was holding a book, worn leather covering the front. "Take it. It's fundamental fae lore."

"Why are you giving this to me? I don't have any money."

"I don't need mortal money," Kieran rolled his eyes. "Besides, that knowledge is so basic, a lot of mortals know it. You should read more."

Andrew threw him a glare. The idiot decided to grin. Something occurred to Andrew.

"When I wake up-"

"The book will be with you," Kieran assured. Then, perhaps to prevent Andrew from asking more questions, he ran.

When Andrew woke up (in juvie, in the room he shared with a pimply addict) there was a worn leather-bound book under his blanket.

Andrew took it out and opened the first page. In a chicken scratch, the boy had written, 'keep this a secret, asshole.'

It was fortunate that Andrew's roommate had already left for breakfast.

Because Andrew lost his shit right there and then.

He couldn't explain away the book as a coincidence. The book was real. The dream was real.

The boy was real.

Andrew leaned his forehead against the window and tried to breathe.

* * *

This time, waking up in the boy's dream made Andrew feel like throwing up.

He still didn't know what to think about all this fae business. Plus he was back too fucking early. He'd only had the book for a day. Before that, all these dreams were at least a few weeks apart. Something was wrong.

Sitting up, he saw the boy and gasped in surprise.

His hair was still blond, but his eyes were back to blue. One of them was swollen shut. His white t-shirt was sticking to his arms and chest with blood. He was sitting still, staring at Andrew. The dream had conjured rainclouds, the boy was sopping wet.

No one spoke, after a while, he reached out and took the book away from Andrew.

"Some fortune teller you are. Can't even keep yourself out of danger, can you?"

The boy just looked on, seemingly too tired for a comeback.

"I don’t have a name right now," he said. Andrew nodded.

The book had told Andrew that knowing the true name of a fae meant being able to control them at will. That's why the boy was always lying.

Andrew knew what it felt like to be powerless. He wouldn't ask for a name again. For once, he didn't retreat the other away. They watched the rain till Andrew had to wake up.

* * *

Andrew saw him once every few weeks, now. He wondered why there were dreams of him on two nights in a row. Was it because he had the boy's book? Did it work the other way? Could he leave something of his in the dream to make the boy appear more frequently?

He took a paper napkin, folded into itself as small as it gets, and left it under some loose fallen leaves. The next day he was stretched out in the courtyard behind their sleeping quarters, sneaking a smoke when a crow flew overhead and dropped something on his lap. He opened the scrunched up napkin. There was a single line scratched in blue ink.

"Don't litter in my realm, asshole."

* * *

Níall had had a long day, running from the shadow of Nathan and the ire of Mary for not being good enough behind the wheels. She'd screeched at him for hours before she let him sleep.

Níall knew he would not get any rest in his sleep when Caoimhín popped up in his realm. Seeing him was like a punch in the gut.

Caoimhín, better known as Kevin Day, the exy prodigy, Riko Moriyama's plaything. It had been years since they'd seen each other. He didn't even know if Kevin was aware that his mom was fae. The boy barely paid attention to anything outside exy.

Níall was acutely aware of the binder dedicated to Kevin, hidden in a hollowed-out tree. For a second his mind blanked out, yearning for the weight of exy gear on his shoulders, a racquet clutched in his fingers.

He watched Kevin watch him. His glamour was good, ash-blond hair and black eyes today. But Kevin knew him. He might know.

Nevertheless, Níall told him his name (Simon) and gave him a very bland, exy related prediction (you will play better if you switch to a different brand of protein powder, beware of hitting your toe on the goal bar, and so on).

The smile that broke through Kevin's face was priceless. Níall felt something in his gut throb. He missed exy so fucking much.

But he couldn't. His mother was right. Exy would be suicide. For a second, Níall wished he could tell Kevin who he was. He wished he could tell Kevin that he'd be kissing Thea Muldani in a year, he'd be a permanent part of the Court, would win the Olympics.

No.

After he left, Níall would go to his mother and tailor the wards of his realm to exclude Kevin. He couldn't endure being tempted a second time.

* * *

Níall's wistfulness at seeing Kevin persisted for days. The blond boy noticed it but didn't comment. One day, he wordlessly offered up a cigarette.

Níall stared at him for a good while, before accepting it. Lighting it up, he took a short drag. It loosened something in him, the smoke leaking out of his mouth and clouding his eyes for a second. Then his eyes cleared and he saw that the boy had gone away to the opposite part of his realm.

Giving him space, Níall mused.

He appreciated it more than he could say.

* * *

Blondie had been watching him in silence for over an hour now. Níall (Marcus today) tried to shake off the discomfort and paranoia. He wasn't one of Nathan's assassins, he couldn't be. The realm wouldn't allow anyone who had ill intentions toward Níall.

"You don't know my name."

Níall almost stumbled. He turned and looked at the Lilliput sitting in his grass. No point in lying to him, so Níall nodded.

Blond eyebrows quirked up. "You can tell if I'll live long but you don't know my name? Why are you so useless?"

"Fuck you."

He didn't care about names. He didn't ask the names of anyone that came into his dreams. They never saw him again.

Except, this little pest of a mortal kept coming back.

The mortal in question spoke up, "Truth for a truth?"

Níall sighed and stopped running, dropping in front of the boy.

"What do you want to know?"

The boy was looking again.

From Níall's face

to his arms

to his chest

to his legs.

Níall fought to keep a blush off his face. Focus, he told himself. Still, the question caught him off guard.

"What do you play?"

Heart beating like a drum, he asked, "What?"

The boy gestured to his body. "You don't get muscles like that just from running. You play something or used to. What was it?"

Níall knew the boy was dangerous. He spoke little, saw too much. Way too much.

"Exy," he rasped out. His mouth dry as sand.

The boy nodded as if he'd known that already. Weird, thought Níall. He knew the boy's juvie had an exy team, but...

"Do you play?" he blurted out.

Brown eyes caught his. "Yes."

Níall waited, but the boy didn't elaborate. He'd already lost his chance to ask for the name. He huffed and stood. His mind was screaming at him to run run run.

Níall ran.

* * *

Andrew loses track of the names. It changes every so often. He starts assigning the boy with new names in his head. Names like LIAR and IDIOT and DUMBASS. He added the names HOBO and RUNAWAY after the boy told him why he changed appearance so often.

"My father is looking for us. There's a price on my head."

"Can't he use magic to find you?"

"Not while I'm under enchantments stronger than his. He just uses mortals. Since I'm on Ironside, that works better than magic."

Ironside is what the mortal world is called since there's so much iron. It's toxic to the full-fledged fae, chokes them, draws out their energy and magic, kills them if they stay too long. It doesn't affect halflings as much.

Andrew offers up his own truths in exchange. He tells the boy about juvie, about learning street-fighting, about the exy games he saw on tv. The last topic made the boy's face light up like a Christmas light the first time. But he quickly blanked his face.

* * *

"We leave today. I'm taking you to the Seelie court."

Again, thought Níall. He was Max for now, here in Stockholm. It'll change in a minute. For a second, he felt resentment towards everyone and everything. Mary Hatford for this stupid parody of life, Nathan for selling him like cattle, Kevin for being cattle.

The moment passed and he felt Mary's fingers clutch at his hair painfully. "Did you not hear what I said? We leave tomorrow. Go put a glamour on."

"Yes, mother," he whispered and left the table as soon as her grip loosened. He shuffled into his room and locked it from the inside. He could glamour himself in a second. But pretending that he couldn't would buy him time. Time to fall apart. He wasn't living. He couldn't live as long as Nathan was alive. He was running on borrowed time.

It took a few minutes, but he was finally able to draw a few gulps of air. Well, moving wasn't so bad after all. Maybe this time the boy in his dreams would vanish. The boy with blond hair, hazel eyes and the smoke of danger cloaking him from head to toe. There was no reason for him to be in Níall's dreams. He was nothing, no one. He was so mortal, Níall knew he didn't even have a true name. he was supposed to be gone after their first dream. But he kept coming to Níall.

If Mary knew…. he barely kept a whimper in check. If she knew the boy could see through Níall's glamour, she'd skin him alive.

As if on cue, Mary yelled for him to come out. Níall took a deep breath and let his features change. His hair grew shorter, almost cropped down to the roots, the colour indistinct. His eyes are mismatched, one black and one hazel, instead of his true dark and light blue. His ears went back to being pointy. At the court, he'd be a halfling, just not THE halfling.

Níall hated the courts. He hated the cruel politics, the pranks, the lies that weren't lies, the games, the abuse. Plus, his father was in faerie. But Mary needed help, needed backup, needed to let the Seelie queen know she was still loyal. After a day or ten, they would be back on the road.

Here we go again.

* * *

In hindsight, Níall should've realized something was wrong as soon as he tried and failed to see the future of a pretty fae girl (probably a few hundred years older than him but looking like a teenager). He could only see static surrounding her aura. He didn't tell her, though. Angering a fae was an easy way to get killed. So he did what he did best. He lied. He glued together with a line of pretty and useless lies and fed them to her. As payment, she kissed him.

Níall hated it instantly. The proximity, the invasion of his private space, the touch itself. While he was thinking about untangling himself, Mary saw them.

If Níall didn't hate kissing already, the beating from Mary would've been enough to put him off.

As it was, he vowed never to go kissing around again, fae or human.

* * *

Andrew stared at the bruises.

They weren't very noticeable. A shadow along the cheekbone, split lip almost healed, fingerprints along arms that Aaron was trying to hide behind sleeves. Luther didn't seem to notice at all. But Andrew did. He'd seen bruises like that in the mirror so often.

For a mad, red second Andrew wondered if it was Drake.

No. Couldn't be.

There was a monster in Aaron's life. Andrew would get out of juvie. Get into Aaron's life. He would find the monster and kill it.

* * *

The world is full of monsters, Andrew mused as he scrutinized the boy in his dreams. His lips were split, probably from one too many slaps. Now that Andrew knew about his exy obsession, he didn’t just spend his time running aimlessly, he did drills and manoeuvres with a speed that pro exy stars would envy.

"Give me today's horoscope, o mighty oracle."

Annoyed, the boy stopped in front of him.

"It's Damen, today. And I'm a clairvoyant, not an oracle."

Andrew scoffed. "You don't look like a Damen."

"The fuck?"

Andrew gestured mildly, "People with the name Damen usually are larger and more dangerous. You're more of a. . . Diana."

Flabbergasted, the boy didn't even reply for a second. Then he did.

"Girl jokes again, really?"

Andrew waved his consternation away. "Why don't you wear dresses anymore? I'm curious."

The idiot grumbled... something. "What?"

"I said! My voice broke. I can't pretend to be a girl anymore."

"You could just not talk."

The boy threw his hands in the air.

Andrew watched him for a moment. The boy stared back.

"Truth for a truth?"

The boy blinked. "What's your name?"

Andrew rolled his eyes. So predictable.

"It's Andrew. My turn. Who hurt you and why?"

The boy swallowed. "That's two questions."

Andrew refused to look away.

* * *

The boy stutters out the full story about asshole parents that make Andrew's blood boil. He looks at the bruises he got for kissing. For kissing. Andrew had to close his eyes to push back his rage.

The boy lies down on the grass, clearly exhausted. After a long stretch of silence, he asks.

“Are you going to hurt me?”

He's looking at Andrew as he waits for the answer, and Andrew doesn't have it in himself to lie.

He's even more reluctant to utter the truth.

“I don't see why,” he settles.

***

Andrew asks questions every dream they meet. Sometimes he gets answers, sometimes evasions. The boy always asks the one question.

“Are you going to hurt me?”

Andrew's answer is the same. He pretends to not see the boy smiling at the answer.

* * *

Andrew's become so used to the gentle, sunny, sometimes rainy weather in the boy's dream. The unexpected blizzard almost picks his small frame off the ground. Andrew drops into a crouch and looks around. The visibility is shit, but the snow-laden trees are the same. He finds the boy sprawled under one of them, motionless and turning blue by the second.

The snow around him was turning red.

Andrew had seen him injured before. The boy ran and ran and ran. It always got bloody when he got caught. Andrew had seen him wincing with broken ribs, eyes unfocused with a concussion, clothes torn like he'd been dragged across the tarmac. But a bullet wound was new.

He was probably unconscious in real life, his mother trying to patch him up. Andrew knew she never left him alone for any stretch of time. Even knowing that, he felt nauseous. The boy was shivering now, face turning paler. Andrew placed a hand over the gunshot wound. There was so much blood.

The boy pressed his own hand over Andrew's, trying to put pressure. Andrew took the hint and pressed.

“I'll be fine,” he whispered. “Mom is trying to fix me up. It's okay.”

As soon as he stopped talking, his back arched and he let out an anguished cry. The wound turned blistering hot and Andrew snatched his hand away.

“What happened?” he asked.

The boy bathed in blood smiled. “Magic.” The dream ended abruptly.

* * *

“If you die in a dream, do you die in real life?” Andrew asked the Juvie counsellor. The man was speechless. Andrew couldn't even bring himself to laugh at him.

* * *

He couldn't die, Andrew thought. He still needed to solve a problem named Tilda. He needed a friend.

(Admitting that the boy was his friend was easier when Andrew was almost sure the idiot was dead.)

* * *

The boy isn't dead. He's named Chris and he's asking a different question today.

“How can you tell it's me every time?”

His hair is chlorophyll green, ears and cheekbones and chin pointy, ethereal. One of his eyes sky blue, the other seafoam green. He smells like pine and woodsmoke. He's probably staying with fae folk, Andrew surmised.

“I see you,” he answers. Vague. That makes the boy scrunch up his eyebrows in irritation. Andrew doesn't elaborate. He asks his own question.

“Is there any way to bring my brother in the dream with me?” he asks instead.

The boy looks more confused. “You can't bring another person in the dream, no. But Andrew, you have a brother?”

Andrew looks at him. “I have a twin.”

“No, you don't.”

Andrew felt his blood running cold. “What are you talking about. Of course, I do. We have the same face.”

The boy looked confused and worried now. He's thinking, Andrew can tell from the slight curve of his eyebrows.

“Andrew, can you bring me something that belongs to your brother?”

* * *

Andrew and Aaron are living in the same house. It's not difficult to swap t-shirts. Three months later Andrew shows up in the boy's dream (sunny again) and is greeted with a tiny, warm smile.

(Andrew hates that smile. It makes him want.)

He lets the boy curl his fingers through the threadbare red t-shirt. Sitting this close to each other, Andrew can see crystal clear through the fae magic that changes his appearance. His eyelashes are red as rust, guarding a pair of mismatched blue eyes, one sky blue, and one teal. Eyes that are looking at him with alarm, now.

Andrew feels horror churning in his stomach. He doesn't ask. The boy tells him anyway.

“Aaron isn't your brother, Andrew. He's your changeling.”

* * *

Tilda knew she wasn't a bad mother. She wasn't. Anyone else would've killed Aaron. But she'd raised him, didn't she?

See, this is what happened. Tilda knew what fae was. They were cruel and tricky and even though they couldn't lie, they made up riddles to manipulate you. She knew all the stories, she knew they were all true.

So when she spotted pointy ears on a month old Andrew one day, she didn't hesitate to press a pair of iron shears against the changeling’s shoulder. It shrieked with pain, its voice spiralling so high that both kitchen windows shattered. There had been a smell like when you toss fresh grass onto a fire, and the baby’s skin turned bright, bubbling red.

Burning a changeling summons its mother. She arrived on the threshold moments later, a swaddled bundle in her arms.

She was thin and tall, her hair the brown of autumn leaves, her skin the colour of bark, with eyes that changed from moment to moment, molten silver to owl gold to dull and grey as stone. There was no mistaking her for human.

Seeing her, Tilda pressed the shears harder. The fae silently held out the child she’d brought, wrapped up in blankets, sleeping as peacefully as if he were in his own bed. “Take him,” she said.

Andrew's mother crushed him to her, drinking in the rightness of his sour-milk smell. She said that was the one thing the Folk of the Air couldn’t fake. The other baby just hadn’t smelled like Andrew.

Then the faerie woman had reached out her arms for her own wailing child, but Tilda blocked the way.

“You can’t have him,” said Andrew’s mother, “if you were willing to trade him away, even for an hour, then you don’t deserve him. I’ll keep them both to raise as my own.”

At that, the fae spoke in a voice like wind and rain and brittle leaves snapping underfoot.

“You do not have the lessoning of us. You have no power, no claim. Give me my child and I will place a blessing on your house, but if you keep him, you will come to regret it.”

“Damn the consequences and damn you, too,” said Tilda. She threw the shears at the fae who vanished with a shriek.

Tilda named the changeling 'Aaron'.

* * *

See, even though Tilda was a good mother, she couldn't be a good mother to both of them. On a fit induced by drugs and stress and alcohol, she gave both her own child and the fae's up for adoption. After spending a few miserable weeks in a slump, she decided that it was a mistake. But by then, Andrew was lost. She got Aaron back, but couldn't stop resenting him. She knew Aaron was the reason she'd lost Andrew, so she punished him, but didn't leave him. Because she was a good mother, see?

* * *

Andrew is struggling to breathe as he finishes recounting what Tilda told him. His blood is aflame with anger and despair. He can tell the boy has his arms around him, but he's not pressing. Slowly, Andrew's breathing syncs with his. The boy lets him go.

Andrew tells him what Tilda hadn't said. That Tilda hits Aaron every day, like clockwork. She lets Aaron have her pills. Aaron was so addicted he couldn't go a single day sober. Aaron was also hopelessly attached to Tilda and didn't even care that she hit him.

The boy looks pale at this new information. “Mortal drugs are as lethal to fae as iron is. You have to stop Aaron, Andrew. You have to.”

* * *

What could Andrew do? He wants so badly to protect Aaron from Tilda. He knows he loves Aaron. Has loved him ever since he knew he had a brother. Even knowing he's a changeling doesn't change the way Andrew feels about Aaron. He casts about in his mind for some other emotion for Aaron- apathy, perhaps. But love wins over all else.

On the other hand, all he feels for Tilda is rage.

* * *

“Truth for a truth?” Andrew asks. The boy starts and looks sideways at him. They're sitting under one of the trees to escape the overly bright sunlight. Andrew is acutely aware of their shoulders touching. But the boy seems lost in thought. Andrew flicks at his arm to get him to pay attention. 

“Fine. No truth. Give me a prediction. Will I die sometime soon?”

“You'll live a long life,” the boy sighs. “I keep telling you that. Your eidetic memory is a lie, isn't it.”

Then he looks at the smile cutting Andrew's face in half.

“Andrew, what are you thinking? Andrew?”

His horrified eyes are the last thing Andrew sees before he wakes up.

* * *

Andrew never really needed the boy's help. He just needed a shard of hope that he would survive this, that he would come back to take care of Aaron.

Everything goes according to plan. Sure, he's in a world of pain, but Tilda is gone. Andrew is in the hospital, trying to arrange his thoughts because he wants to tell the boy that he did it, he's saved Aaron from Tilda.

* * *

He wakes up flat on his back in the grass. His body is throbbing with pain, making him gasp as he tries to breathe.

A sharp intake of breath has him squinting open his eyes. The bright sunlight hurts so much that he groans.

The boy is right next to him, he can tell. There aren't any words forthcoming, but another set of heavy breathing joins his.

“Andrew, oh god Andrew. What did you do?” the boy chokes out.

“Killed... Tilda…. “ Andrew gasps out. He tries to open his eyes again, catches the boy looking down at him with wet eyes. He was too close again. Andrew could see the mismatched blue.

The boy blinked, a drop of tear falling on Andrew's forehead. He murmured a sorry and sat back, away from Andrew. Andrew closed his eyes and listened as the idiot tried to muffle his sobs.

“Shut up,” Andrew gasped out. “You're the one who told me I would live. Were you lying?”

“N-no.” The boy said in between sobs. It was probably the first time anyone ever cried for Andrew. He didn't know how to feel about it.

“Then stop crying. Doctors said I'll be fine in a few days.”

“Fuck you,” the boy sobbed out. “Don't you dare die on me. Don't you fucking dare.”

Andrew let the boy cry and cry and cry some more over him, not knowing why the idiot would cry over him.

* * *

Andrew disappears from his dreamscape and Níall feels an icy blackness seep through the edges of his vision.

Why is everything good always taken from him?

* * *

Mary Hatford noticed her son was more subdued than usual. It put her on edge. She didn't like not knowing what he was thinking.

It didn't take much to get words out of his mouth. She had his hair gripped in a palm and his lips red from a vicious slap. He finally confessed.

“Something is blocking my vision. I can't see your future. Not even tomorrow.”

His eyes were large and terrified. He was telling the truth.

Mary felt a shiver run through her spine. Something was wrong. Níall's vision had never failed before. Either Nathan had done something to smother his son's magic, or-

Mary had to take precautions.

* * *

Andrew's body healed after the accident. He'd bought a lovely car with Tilda's insurance money. He had a house in Columbia. He had Aaron and Nicky. As annoying as they both were, they were family. Andrew would take care of them.

* * *

When Andrew dropped into another of his special dreams, the rain didn't even bother him. The dreams were routine. They were almost as safe as home.

He spotted the boy running around the cage again, soaked through. Andrew sat near the fence, right on his path.

Andrew could tell the moment he was spotted. The boy's face crumbled as if he was going to cry. The next second, his eyes lit up with rage. Eventually, he stopped, right in front of where Andrew sat and smoked. Andrew wordlessly offered him a cigarette.

The boy reached out. But instead of taking the cigarette, he wrapped his fingers around Andrew's wrist and gripped with a crushing force. His face twisted in anger and anguish and all the emotions Andrew told himself not to look for. He could read what the boy was thinking, clear as glass.

“You're alive” and “You could've died” and “I hate you so much” and “I'm so relieved”.

Andrew looked away first.

* * *

Andrew likes his nighttime visits. He sits with the nameless boy and shares cigarettes. The boy only takes one or two drags on a good day, finishes more than one on a bad day. Sometimes he leans on Andrew's shoulder, just a little bit. Andrew doesn't mind. The boy's as light as a bird anyway. But he doesn't stay still for long. He always runs.

* * *

Andrew is a student at Columbia High and a goalie on their exy team. His first game goes well. He thinks he will tell the boy about the game. He can already imagine the dopey look on the well-memorized face.

(His heart stutters a bit. He ignores it)

He dreams that night. He dreams of a soft curtain of rain falling in a familiar cage-garden.

Andrew looks for the boy out of habit. But all he could see was a length of red hanging from a tree branch. Upon closer inspection, he spotted the boy on the tree. Surprisingly, he looked like himself, no glamour. He was lying on the branch, letting an impressive length of wet red hair dangle down.

“Let me guess, your name is Rapunzel?”

The boy stared down, annoyed at the quip. “I'm letting my hair grow to use in a ritual, fuck off.”

Andrew settled under the tree, flat on his back so they could talk face to face.

He could tell the boy wasn't ok. He wasn't hurt, judging from how he kept moving atop the thin branch and not falling off. But he was restless, scared even. His hands running through russet hair again and again.

“What's wrong with you?”

It came out harsher than he'd intended, and Andrew felt like a dick for a second. The boy just sighed and tumbled off the tree. He lay down next to Andrew. Close enough to touch but not actually touching. Andrew caught a hint of his pine and woodsmoke scent again.

“I'll tell you a truth, and you'll give me one of your own,” the boy said, looking up at the tree. “For a few months now, I haven't been able to see properly. I can't see my own future, or my mother's, or yours.”

“What does that mean?”

The boy turned on his side, his face inches from Andrew. Raindrops clung to his lashes, reminding Andrew of his tears.

“It means I'll probably die soon. I've always known I would die young,” he whispered. “But now... I can feel it. Something really bad will happen.”

Andrew rolled to his side, staring at the boy. He wasn't joking. There was fear and despair in his face. He truly believed he would die.

Andrew reached out and rested his hand between them, a wordless invitation. The boy's hand slipped in his and held on.

“Now tell me a truth,” he whispered. “Would you forget me if I die and you never see me again?” he asked, whisper-soft as the raindrops.

“No,” Andrew answered, just as soft.

You are a liar and an idiot and a runaway. But you're my friend. I wouldn't forget you, he wanted to say.

He didn't say it, but the thoughts were clear on his face.

The hand in his spasmed. The boy looked on, despair dark in his eyes. “Abram,” he choked out. “Call me Abram. That's my real name.”

A part of his real name, Andrew surmised. He spoke the name aloud, tasting it between his lips. Red hair and blue eyes and Abram, finally a name to put his feelings under.

Abram had apparently used up all his energy. He curled around their clasped hands. Andrew mirrored his pose, offering up as much comfort as he could afford. His hand itched to touch the stretch of red hair thrown over Abram's shoulder.

Andrew hovered a hand over the hair. Abram nodded. Andrew sunk his hand in his hair and stroked over his scalp lightly. The small action made the boy sigh. His eyes closed and he pushed his head into Andrew's palm, wordlessly asking him to keep going.

* * *

Right before Andrew was about to wake up, Abram handed him something. It was a glass vial containing a fiery red lock of hair. “Why?” he asked.

Abram looked less panicked now, looking calmer after... After.

“I don't know how many days I'll be around. You can keep it with you when you sleep, and you'll be in my realm, every night if you want. I don't want to spend my last nights giving out predictions to a stranger,” he made a face.

“As if you can see futures anymore,” Andrew mocked. “You're blind as a bat.”

“Oh, shut up.” Abram flipped him off. Something suddenly occurred to Andrew.

“Here,” he took out his metal zippo from his pocket. “I have something of yours, so you keep something of mine.”

Abram took it from his hand, gratitude clear in his eyes.

Andrew brushed his hand through the red hair once more before he was whisked back into real life.

* * *

Nothing bad happens immediately. Andrew kept meeting Abram in his dreams. One of those times he realizes he still has his phone.

Abram is quiet as he watches Andrew flick open the basic phone. Andrew asks him if he has one. His smile is a harsh one.

“We only have burner phones.”

Andrew still makes him memorize the number.

Just in case.

* * *

Three nights later, Andrew's phone rings while he's picking up groceries (ice cream and alcohol) at the local store. The number isn't familiar. He hits the green button, his heart suddenly hammering. Stop it, he tells himself. It could be anybody.

It isn't just anybody.

“Andrew?”

“Junkie.”

The boy huffs in amusement, not quite a laugh. He's calling from a payphone. He sounds incredibly tired. Andrew asks if he's hurt. Silence spreads over them for a minute.

“I just have this bad feeling in my gut. I just needed to hear your voice.”

Andrew closes his eyes, heart-clenching painfully.

“Needed.”

Andrew tells him about the shop's dismal collection of ice cream, the weird cereal names, the disgusting condom flavours that choke a laugh out of the other boy, so many brands of vodka.

They talk until Abram runs out of quarters. Andrew stares at his phone for a long minute, Abram's voice still echoing around him.

* * *

Níall leaves the payphone and goes back to the abandoned warehouse where he'd killed a man not an hour ago.

Mary has already cleaned up all evidence of his first kill. She looks calm, collected, everything that Níall isn't.

For once, she looks at him with soft eyes.

“You feeling better?”

Níall nods. It's the truth. Listening to Andrew's voice, knowing he's real, comforts him more than anything in the world.

* * *

Níall fought to control his shaking hands and he drove, exhaustion catching up after finally losing their tail. He knew Mary was injured.

He hadn’t even realized she'd been injured so badly after running into his father in Seattle. She bled most of the way through Oregon, but he didn’t think it was serious. He didn’t know she was bleeding out on the inside, a kidney and her liver ruptured, her intestines bruised beyond repair.

He didn't know when she figured it out, if she'd known by Portland that something was seriously wrong but was too scared to stop or if she hadn't seen her death coming until they crossed the California border and she started losing consciousness. They should have gone to a hospital, but she'd turned them down the treacherous path to the lost coast instead. They stop six feet from the tide and she makes him repeat every promise she'd ever dragged out of him: don't look back, don't slow down, and don't trust anyone. Be anyone but himself, and never be anyone for too long.

By the time Níallunderstood she was saying goodbye, it was too late. Mary was clutching at his overgrown hair and cutting it off, calling him by his full name.

The gasping 'Níall Abram Rhun' has him shivering uncontrollably, his body completely at her mercy. She orders him to stay still and he has to, powerless against her evoking his true name.

He tries to stop her, he tries. He sees the runes she's putting down and horror makes his breath come short. It's a rune to induce amnesia. What is she trying to make him forget?

And then Mary asks him.

“Tell me the name of the person who keeps coming in your dreamscape.”

Níall tries to stop the name from tumbling out, but his body isn't his. He chokes out Andrew's name and feels hollow instantly.

“Mother, mother... please!”

Mary is dying, but the venom in her eyes is harsh.

“Foolish child. Did you think I wouldn't know? He will get you killed, Abram. I can't afford to let that happen.”

Níall is numb. “Not Andrew, not Andrew, please. He's the only one who can see me, the only one who makes me feel real... mother please... “

She gathers his cut hair in her hands and breathes an incantation in it, tangling Níall and Andrew's name. His hair turns into powdered rust and blows into his eyes. The rune burns into a dark pattern along his left arm. When he opens his eyes, Mary is still.

By the time he burns her, buries her and finds a place for himself to be safe, hours have passed. Níall knows the incantation is slow-acting, he won't start forgetting Andrew for a few hours still, but the despair sinks in him like a stone.

He clutches the metal lighter in one hand and cries himself to sleep.

* * *

Níall wakes up in Andrew's dreamscape.

It's a long stretch of white noise where Andrew sits, humming a slow tune. At the sight of him, Níall's legs give out. He's sobbing into his palm by the time Andrew reaches him.

“Abram? Are you hurt?”

Níall isn't hurt. He's numb. He looks at Andrew, trying to memorize him one last time because-

“My mother's dead. She- she put a curse on me, so I will forget you.”

Andrew's eyes go wide. He's reaching out a hand to grab Níall's shoulder when they both notice the dark pattern snaking across his forearm. The sight of it pulls a choking sob out of Níall. The curse manifested on both of them.

“You're going to forget me too. In a few hours.”

Seeing Andrew right in front of him made the sense of impending loss just that much more acute. The long chase from Nathan's men, the death of Mary, and the amnesia curse. Níall felt himself crumple forward and into Andrew's arms.

“I don't want to forget you. I can't. ... Not you... Andrew…. “

“Shut up,” Andrew says harshly. Yet he holds Níall like he was breakable. His fingers ran through the jagged mess of his hair.

“I'll find a way. We'll get our memories back. I’ll get _you_ back. I promise you. Abram,” Andrew pulled him back to look into his eyes. “I promise you.”

* * *

The two boys wrap themselves around each other, trying desperately to prolong the last minutes together. 

“Where are you?” Andrew asks.

“California. Beach. You?”

“Columbia, South Carolina.”

Níall lets out a burst of watery laughter. “The other side of the country.”

Andrew's arms tighten around him. “Doesn't matter, I'll still find you.”

“If I don't die first.”

Andrew retaliates by pulling on a lock of his hair. Níall laughs. There's something about being with Andrew that makes him forget the constant urge to run and hide. It feels like home. He settles closer to the other boy, noticing for the first time how he smells like cigarettes and sugar. Andrew doesn't stop him.

It doesn't last.

The ink on his arm starting to burn is the only warning Níall has before Andrew is ripped away from him.


	3. Red light, red light, stop! (I don’t care when it comes to my heart)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm, or the storm before the storm, perhaps.

All his life, Nicky tried to break free of shackles. Since he could walk, he saw things, heard things that others didn't. His religious parents shunned him for believing in fae. They didn't believe Nicky could see them. When he came out to his parents, they finally snapped. A delusional child was bearable, but a homosexual one? Oh, the shame.

A part of Nicky's heart died, then. But he didn't stop smiling. If anything, he smiled more, desperately trying to cheer himself and everyone around. That's how he found Erik. Erik who also saw the fae. He held Nicky's hand and taught him the little things about them. Inevitably, it seemed, they fell in love.

And then Nicky found the Minyards.

Nicky knew about the drama surrounding his aunt Tilda, but he never met her or her son Aaron. Then she died and Nicky found out there was more. Aaron had a twin.

Their first meeting had Nicky reeling from shock. Aaron and Andrew looked like mirror images to human eyes. But to Nicky, they couldn't be more different. Andrew was undoubtedly human. Despite the glint of danger in his eyes, he had a calmness in him. Like the eye of a storm.

Aaron, on the other hand, was undeniably other. He must be Andrew's changeling, Nicky thought. He was so agitated inside and out, Nicky felt it in his bones.

Despite all that, he decided to keep them. They needed somebody to take care of them, and Nicky would be that person. Nicky would be their family. Even if it meant being away from Erik for a little while.

* * *

It took only a few days for Nicky to see his stay wouldn't be easy. As soon as they settled in the house in Columbia, Andrew locked Aaron in the upstairs bathroom. Aaron going cold turkey was a noisy affair. Nicky could understand Andrew did it for Aaron's good. But did he have to be so heartless about it?

Aaron recovered and seemed to hate Andrew with a passion. Nicky found jobs for all of them at a nightclub. Aaron found cracker dust. Andrew found a fuck buddy.

Nicky told himself things would get better.

For a while, it did.

Aaron and Andrew tried hard to get along. They formed a weird bond where they looked out for each other but weren't affectionate at all, despite Nicky's attempts.

After a few weeks, Andrew stopped looking at Nicky with suspicion and derision, seemingly relaxing around him.

Andrew was an excellent student and an amazing exy player when he decided to work at it. Aaron also joined the exy team, showing promise as a backliner. Nicky settled into his job at Eden's Twilight, basking in the vibrant nightlife.

* * *

Nicky worked overtime on nights that he missed Erik too much. On nights like those, he sometimes came home to find Andrew smoking on the back porch. Nicky started to join him with a bottle of beer.

At first, Nicky thought Andrew stayed awake because of nightmares.

He wasn't completely wrong.

Some nights, the after-effects of a nightmare left Andrew jittery and defensive, snarling at Nicky when he so much as made a noise.

Other nights, Andrew seemed quiet, almost content. The soft look on his face made Nicky wonder what he was thinking.

He got his answer, one day.

Well, sort of.

After his late shift at Eden's, Nicky walked to the nearby store for a snack. Andrew's car was parked outside. Good, he wouldn't have to walk home.

Inside, Nicky didn't have to look far. As soon as he saw the tiny blond, Nicky stopped in his tracks.

Andrew was in front of the ice creams, talking to somebody over the phone. What stumped Nicky was his face.

Andrew's face looked softer, younger than Nicky had ever seen.

So that's the person Andrew dreams of, he thinks.

Looking at Andrew while there's an almost smile curling his lips, Nicky feels he's intruding on a private moment. He pays for his crisps and waits for Andrew besides his car.

Andrew isn't surprised when he spots Nicky. Nicky doesn't ask about the phone call.

It's enough, he thinks. It's enough that Andrew has someone.

* * *

Nicky should've known better.

The weather turned into a monster right after Mary Hartford died. The Minyard twins fell into fitful sleep through the storm while Nicky stayed awake, mindlessly looking through Facebook for hours. Around midnight, he heard a scream.

Andrew woke up with pain searing through his left arm and shoulders. His mind wasn't working, there were too many holes and tears. Where was he? Who was he with? What was he dreaming about? Why the fuck does it hurt so bad?

Someone shoved into his room, yelling his name. It was a male, considerably larger than him. Andrew flinched violently.

'Get the fuck away from me!'

The intruder stopped. Something nagged at the back of Andrew's mind. Drake never stopped. It wasn't Drake. In the sparse light of the hallway, he could see the man had darker skin, kinder face. Nicky. His cousin. Behind him, there's another face. His own. Aaron. His eyes were large and frantic.

Andrew forced his body to unlock, bit by bit. His arm was throbbing something terrible. Sitting up on the bed, he shoved up the sleeve.

Nicky's sharp intake of breath almost went lost in the shock Andrew felt, seeing the tattoo curling along his arm, up towards his shoulder. Andrew doesn't remember getting a tattoo, but it's obviously there. Why can't he remember?

Andrew doesn't miss the horrified look on their faces, his brother, his cousin. A simple tattoo doesn't warrant this much attention or horror.

"What is this?", Andrew directs the question to his twin. No, his changeling. But why does Andrew know that? How does Andrew know that?

"It's an amnesia-inducing curse, Andrew. You're meant to forget someone.”

In the dim light of the bedroom, Aaron looks haunted, inhuman. Andrew feels a shiver crawl down his spine.

He's meant to forget someONE, not someTHING. His mind jumps to the worst possible scenario.

There have been way too many predators in Andrew's life. Maybe someone was making him forget one of those. If that was so, Andrew was in danger. They all were. Something broke inside him at that moment. Aaron saw it and looked away. Nicky saw it and despaired.

* * *

Andrew stopped sleeping.

He spent his time as anyone else. Going to Columbia high, using the gym, working at Eden's. But while everyone else slept, he kept watching. He fell into exhausted slumber after days passed, curled into a chair or couch, but it never lasted beyond a couple of hours. Cold terror jolted him awake.

The first night the curse appeared, he'd upended the house looking for some clue. He'd spent hours hunched over a journal writing down everything he could remember from the last twelve months and went through it for holes in his memory.

Andrew had an eidetic memory, he shouldn't have any holes in it.

And yet, there were a lot of holes.

First off, how did Andrew know about fae? How did he know Aaron was a changeling? Why had he asked Tilda? There were black rips across his memory, hours of information lost in a void.

Then there was the mysterious vial of red under Andrew's pillow that made him flinch, and that one call from a payphone last week that showed an hour of call time in his phone log - Andrew had no clue about either. Not knowing made his breath come short, sweat breaks out across his body.

Andrew was in pieces.

He hated this vast new unknown that opened up in his memories.

More than that, he hated the emptiness in his chest. He felt a dreadful absence, felt it more acutely every time he woke up as if he was forgetting a step of the staircase and falling through nothing.

He refused to call the feeling 'yearning'. He stopped sleeping entirely to escape from it.

It didn't take him long to snap.

It was a quiet day in Eden's Twilight. The pulsing light, the music and being awake for about a hundred hours was making Andrew disoriented. That's why he was too late in noticing Nicky wasn't in his sight. Then he heard Nicky's scream.

Panic squeezing his chest, Andrew ran outside to find four men surrounding Nicky and touching-

Honestly, the rest of it was a red blur. Andrew didn't remember enough. The scent of blood, Nicky's tearshot eyes, the cold bite of handcuffs, voices droning on and on shoving medicine down his throat and then-

_Mania._

* * *

Níall goes through life like a ghost.

He's used to having Mary with him. Her death broke through his flimsy sense of safety. Every night he goes to sleep knowing he might not wake up. He jumps at shadows, flinches at anyone speaking too loud. For a while, he hung onto every word his mother had said. He doesn't look back, doesn't slow down, and doesn't trust anyone. He wasn't himself, and he wasn't anyone for too long. 

What life was this?

He kept his dream realm tightly warded, as much as his depleting resources allowed. Ironside wasn't a good place to find spell supplies. Despite his efforts, people sometimes came into his dream, asking for predictions.

Or not, as it turned out one night. 

Níall blanched at the sight of Jean Moreau, Riko Moriyama's plaything. Jean had the worst life that Níall had ever seen. Apparently, his parents foolishly made a deal with a fae and had to give Jean up. They ran instead. The insulted fae went to the Alderking for justice and he used his Ironside allies, the Moriyama family, to track down the Moreau family. The parents were left in the hands of the fae to be punished, and Jean was given to Riko Moriyama as a token of gratitude. 

For years, Jean endured the abuse, until it wasn’t bearable anymore. He kept trying to escape and failed each time. At one point, he tried to starve himself.

The Alderking came, in all his terrifying red. 

They took Jean to Fairfold, tied Jean up and brutally slashed the ties between his body and soul. His spirit left in agony in Fairfold, a little town in the middle of nowhere. His body and mind were chained to the whims (and tortures) of Riko. 

Níall had never seen Jean without massive bruises. Tonight was no exception.

Glamors were useless in front of Jean, who'd known Níall since childhood and probably knew him best. A gleam of recognition lit in his grey eyes. He didn't move or speak as Níall sat down beside him and carefully pet his hair. It was wet with blood in places.

“How much longer?” The boy asked.

Níall suppressed a sigh. Every time, Jean asked the same thing. How much longer do I have to live?

Níall used to give him hope. “Someone will break your spirit out of the cage. Someone will take care of you. Someone will love you.”

Years passed and enchantment stayed in place, while Riko broke Jean bit by bit.

Níall’s clairvoyance was coming back slowly, after his mother’s death. He concentrated on Jean. Through a fog of agony and despair, he saw a path forking in two directions. 

“Not much longer now,” he soothed Jean.

A few months till he finds love or dies. Either way, Jean would be free.

The boy breathed a sigh of relief and laid his head down on Níall’s lap. The halfling ran his fingers on cuts and bruises, trying to heal the worst. It was an old routine that brought comfort to both boys. 

Out of nowhere, Jean spoke up.

“Your mother was cruel in making you forget.”

Níall’s hand stopped. He’d forgotten that Jean knew more about fae runes than him. His parents being very thorough in teaching him as much as they could; he picked up the rest from his time with Riko and the Alderking. Níall rolled up his sleeve to uncover the whole rune.

“It’s a memory erasure rune, but why does it look incomplete?” Níall asks.

Jean studied it for a while, his face inscrutable.

“It looks incomplete because it is half of a whole. The other rune is with the person you forgot. They were made to forget you too.”

“Nathan’s men?”

“No,” Jean looked tired. “It was someone you cared for. Someone who cared for you. You should find them and take off the rune. Only the two of you can take each other’s rune away. No one else can. It is cruel.”

Someone who cared for Níall?

No one ever cared for Níall. Not his parents, not his uncle. No one, at all.

He couldn’t take off the rune. His mother…. 

His mother was dead. Was he any better? Running, running, running his life away.

How much longer?

“How do I take off the rune?”

Jean smiles. His smile is a rare, fractured thing that reminds Níall how beautiful he is. He gestures at the rune.

“You just have to get close enough to them and pinch the end of the rune, like a thread. Weaving a spell takes effort. But unravelling takes only a second. Hold the thread and tug.”

Maybe, Níall thinks. Maybe when (if) he meets them, the one with the other half of his rune, maybe then he will decide whether to keep it or not.

* * *

Níall breaks himself, again and again, moulds himself to a new name, new face, and persona.

He is so tired.

He is Neil Josten, now. He's breaking his mother's wishes for the first time since her death and signing up for exy.

He's having doubts. 

There's concrete under his heels and a long stretch of nothing right after it. If he drops his cigarette, how long will it take to touch the ground?

Neil remembers someone who's afraid of heights. Remembering them comes with a swift bite of disorientation, and Neil carefully moves back from the edge.

Who?

The thought comes with the aching emptiness in his bones that he's already familiar with.

Oh, he thinks. It's them. The one from his dreams. The one he forgot.

There's a metal Zippo lighter in his duffel. Neil knows it doesn't belong to him or his mother. There's an A scratched into the metal. Mary never would've allowed something like this, something that looks so personal. But Neil has it. He'd used it to light his mother's bones on fire. He'd used it in a daze, clutching the heavy metal like a lifeline. It's from them, he thinks. He knows. It's probably dangerous to hold on to it, to hold onto hope. But for the life of him, Neil can't find the resolve to get rid of it.

He sleeps with the lighter under his pillow. Hoping. Just hoping.

* * *

Sometimes you meet people. And even if they look alright from the outside you feel such a loud vibe of 'No' from the inside that you never feel at ease around them.

Like Drake.

Andrew felt like that the first time he saw Neil Josten. But instead of No, the word inside his head was an echoing, resounding YES.

Andrew's manic brain caught the thought and spun it round and round till he had to sit down and laugh it off. Wymack was giving the kid a pep talk. Andrew wondered if it would work on Neil Josten.

It certainly worked on Andrew.

Kevin was bouncing on the spot, eager with the prospect of... anything exy-related excited him really, but he kept glancing at Andrew.

“What?”

Kevin flinched a little. “He's not mortal. He's got fae blood in him. Just a bit.”

Of course, he did. Of course. Andrew's life was a fucking joke. He had a fae curse on him, his brother was a changeling, and even his exy team was going to be half full of fae bullshit now. 

It wasn't a coincidence. Wymack had the vision, so did Kevin. They had a knack of picking fae that were struggling to survive in Ironside. The remaining humans either had the vision or were tangled with the fae somehow. Josten would fit in just fine.

If he didn't run, that is.

* * *

Surprisingly, Neil Josten didn't run.

By the time he showed up in Palmetto, Andrew had managed to find out everything about him. Everything that was on the record, that is. All the potholes in his story are glaring at Andrew saying Wrong Wrong Wrong but Andrew's guts are telling him to 

_wait._

And then Josten turned out to have a sharp tongue and even sharper wit, he spoke German and French and his glamour was so tightly woven even Andrew couldn’t see through the mundane Brown. 

Yet another thing that wasn't on his records.

Looks like Andrew needed to take him to Eden's, after all.

* * *

Neil felt jitters all over that night, anxious about the outing. He knew what club Andrew's group went to. Eden's Twilight was well known to be an abomination, allowing forbidden interactions between humans and others. He and his mother had always steered clear of such volatile places, before tonight, that is.

The clothes that Andrew got him were one point of relief, at least. They were opaque enough to not allow his curse mark to be visible. It was stubborn against glamours, and he really didn’t have the patience to slather makeup over half his arm.

The night had a slight chill to it. The others were in light jackets by the time Neil came out. Halfway through to the drive, both Andrew and Aaron threw up in quick succession.

"Did no one ever teach you how to make a ragwort steed?" Neil couldn’t help but jibe at Aaron. He was asking for it, being a full fae and riding in a metal contraption.

"Shut up," the blond snapped at him, face red and swollen. Did he do that every time they went clubbing? What an idiot. 

Andrew's laboured breathing stopped Neil from his own scathing remark. He was soon following his twin's footsteps and throwing up bile at the side of the road. Neil felt an unwelcome pang of sympathy towards him that he shook off instantly. 

Both twins were limp on the backseat by the time they reached the club. Neil thought there wouldn’t be much to worry about.

He was wrong.

Andrew took off his jacket, revealing his bare arms. Even the neon strobe lights couldn’t keep Neil from understanding what the black marks that ran down Andrew's arm were.

The other half of his curse mark.

Neil kept his mark desperately secret, while Andrew almost wore it like a warning. His black tank top was snug to his muscles exactly till the first strokes of the marks started, and as the mark stopped, his armband started. Some of the fae dancing and drinking in the club saw the mark for what it was and flinched away from it. 

Neil just felt numb with shock. Andrew noticed, and when the others were too drunk to notice, he told Neil what he thought of the mark and how he'd one day woke up with it.

"I don’t know who has a mark like this," Andrew said. "But I have a knife with their name on it."

* * *

At the cousin's house, Neil twisted and turned till he gave up and sat in the kitchen with a glass of warm milk. The house didn’t have a lot of iron, he noticed, probably for Aaron's comfort. 

Speak of the devil…

Aaron slipped into the kitchen almost blindly, picking up a glass bottle of cold water from the fridge and sipping it. It was almost empty when he noticed Neil. He spluttered but somehow managed not to drop the bottle.

"You're so fucking silent," he complained, "like, like a-"

"Like a fae?" 

That earned Neil a cross-eyed glare that was directed towards a cabinet behind him. 

"I can teach you how to use ragworts," he offers. Why he doesn’t know. The truth he learned is skewing his thoughts. He's afraid of even looking up, in case his unstable feelings are broadcasted in his eyes. 

"No," Aaron interjects. "Andrew doesn’t want me to. And I… I don’t either. Not yet." 

He stumbles to a stop in front of Neil, sliding down to sit on a stool. "I just want to be human for as long as I can," he sounds less drunk and sadder. "As long as I have him." 

And Neil understands. God, he understands. Fae isn't quite immortal, but they live infinitely longer than humans. A fae in his lifetime would love and lose many humans if he let himself.

And Neil had let himself, hadn’t he? He's lost his mother, already, leaving him desolate. Someday he'd have to lose Andrew. The thought sends a piercing ripple of pain through his very being. 

Aaron retreats to his bed, and Neil is left to stew in his own misery. He feels reckless enough to just go up to Andrew's room and show him Neil's half of the mark. He's willing to embrace whatever comes next, be it a knife to his gut, or memories where Andrew loves him.

But what if Andrew hated him?

Well, Andrew hates him already right? It couldn’t hurt to try.

He looks up, and Andrew is standing in the doorway to the kitchen as if summoned by Neil's haphazard thoughts. He's still wearing that damn tank top and Neil's eyes zero on it. It's all he can see. All he can think of. 

"I should show you mine," he tells Andrew. "It's only fair."

Something dark ripples across Andrew's expression. He takes a step into the kitchen. Neil's hand goes to the hem of his own shirt. Hazel eyes dart to the movement.

"Upstairs," Andrew growls, turning and leaving without Neil, who trails behind him.

Andrew's room could've been dark or light or neon pink and Neil wouldn’t know. His heart hammered in his ribcage as he stood an arm's distance away from Andrew. Nothing mattered except what he was about to do. 

Like ripping off a band-aid, he peeled the sweat-sticky shirt up over his head, turning so Andrew could take in the entirety of the mark. 

Mirror images, counterparts, a set of two.

In the space of one blink and another, Neil finds himself shoved into the wall, a knife pressed to his throat, and a snarling Andrew at his face.

"I'll kill you," he hissed. "I'll cut you into pieces and bury you so far down-"

Neil didn’t dare move. It was shocking to see Andrew react so vehemently. His pupils were blown wide, almost eclipsing the hazel.

"Give me one, good, reason to not slit your throat right now."

"I can't," Neil breathed. "I don’t know what happened that my mother cursed you and me both. I can't give you what you want."

That earned him another wordless snarl. "But," Neil continued, "I can take it off. I know how to. You can see for yourself if you want to kill me after." 

"Why should I trust you," Andrew spat. "You've done nothing but lie since you've been here." 

The knife pressed tighter. Neil felt the sting of broken skin and a drop of blood trailing down his throat.

"You shouldn’t," he said. "But I'm hoping you will anyway. I could've lied about my mark. I could've run." I didn’t, goes unsaid.

It feels like long decades pass before Andrew lowers the knife. 

"Fine," he says. "Do it. I can always kill you after."

Neil's body sags with relief and would've slid to the floor if not for Andrew's vice-like grip on his arm. 

"Ok," he whispers. "Let me show you how. You have to pinch this end," he pinches the air over Andrew's elbow, the air shimmering. "Then you have to tug it away, so it unravels. You'll have to do mine, after."

Andrew doesn’t agree, neither does he voice any complaint. So Neil tugs. 

The air stills for a second, and then there is a horrible screech. It's the half curse on Andrew dying, he realizes. Andrew's grip on Neil loosens, and he backs away, a hand on his forehead. The thread of the rune is unravelling, circling Andrew's head and vanishing bit by bit.

"What," he breathes. "What's…. who…?"

Andrew stumbles back a few steps and then it’s him who's sliding to the floor, breathless. 

The curse mark hadn’t completely vanished. It left a faint impression over Andrew's skin. Neil hopes it will not leave any lasting effect. 

The last bit of thread vanishes and Andrew lets out a wounded sound, looking up to meet Neil's eyes with his own. His eyes are full of tears, and recognition. 

"Abram?"

Neil's vision blacks out with terror for a second, and he scrambles towards the door, not even hearing Andrew's frantic calls. He runs a few miles towards Palmetto when exhaustion catches up with him.

Maybe Andrew had the right idea. Maybe they weren’t friends after all. 

Neil reaches Foxtower just as dawn breaks, and it’s impossible to ignore the massive car and its owner standing beside it. Neil's tired legs almost buckle at the sight. But he doesn’t have it in him to run, not from this mad urge to get closer to Andrew.

Hazel eyes watch him like a hawk as he limps closer. There aren’t words as Neil forces himself to stand still in front of Andrew and roll up his shirt sleeve. The wait is frustrating, as Andrew watches him for any hint of hesitation.

"Yes or no?" he asks. As if afraid Neil would run again.

"Yes," Neil says, inching closer. Andrew's hand strikes like lightning and unravels the spell. A stinging pain strikes up Neil's arm and keeps going till it envelops his brain. He doesn’t understand at first, but then like a tsunami the memories hit, filling up the gaps in his recollection.

The pain and disorientation keeps mounting and his knees finally buckle. Strong arms hold him up against a solid body and Neil blacks out.

He wakes up in a bed.

His memories have slotted into place and he breathes deeply for a minute, relishing the fact that he can now recognise Andrew's scent on the pillow. 

He cleans off in the bathroom, noticing that someone has cleaned and wrapped his blistered feet in clean gauze. Now that his head and feet aren’t hurting as much, Neil feels his stomach trying to eat itself.

Andrew is in the kitchen, surrounded by the sweet smell of pancakes, maple syrup, and fruit. He was on the phone, but his eyes were on Neil as soon as he stepped foot in the kitchen. 

Nicky was flipping pancakes on the stove, while Kevin whirred away at the food processor. Neither of them noticed Neil stealing an apple from the fruit basket, but Aaron did, from where he sat hunched over his cereal bowl. His glare was full of suspicion. 

Andrew drifted closer to where Neil was, and then not so subtly prodded him to the corridor outside.

"He's awake, tell him," Andrew said into the phone and then handed it to Neil. "It's Renee, for you."

What could Renee want with Neil? He took the phone nonetheless, noticing how Andrew leaned on the wall next to him instead of giving him privacy. 

"Neil, someone here wants to talk to you," Renee said. And then an awfully familiar voice was calling Neil's name, a voice that took away his breath.

"Jean," he whispered. "Is that you? Is that really you?"

"Yes," the voice whispered back. "Are you doing well? Are you… are you safe?"

Neil clutched the phone to his ear. "I'm fine, Jean," he insisted, while Jean snorted at his predictable answer. "Where are you? Why are you with Renee?" 

"Oh, Neil," Jean sighed. "I have so much to tell you, me and Renee and Jeremy. Can you come down here? I would love to see you. I'm at Fairfold." 

Neil barely suppressed a full-body shudder. "I- I can't. It's Fairfold!"

Fairfold. The Alderking. Blood and blood and blood. His mother breaking the wards with an ominous rattle in the wind. _Dead and gone and bones, dead and gone and bones, dead and gone_ \- 

Jean was saying something reassuring, but Neil's ears were full of the rushing sound of blood. He was barely aware of the clatter made by the phone as it slipped his grip, and then cold fingers gripped the back of his neck.

"Breath," Andrew's breath brushed the shell of his ear. "Breathe, Neil."

His hand was picked up and placed on a slow-moving chest. Neil tried to mimic the movement to draw breath into his own lungs. By the time he felt calm, they were both leaning on the wall. Neil stumbled outside, Andrew following like a shadow. 

Now that he wasn’t preoccupied, Neil could clearly see Andrew wasn’t well. His hand shook as he moved it away from Neil's neck, the purple shadows under his eyes speaking volumes. 

"You," Neil had to stop and cough the hoarseness out of his voice. "You're not taking your meds?" 

"Don't ask stupid questions," Andrew admonished, lighting a cigarette, or attempting to. Neil pulled out his own lighter and lit it for him.

"That's mine," Andrew observed.

"It's mine now," Neil countered, putting the lighter back into his pocket. "You gave it to me, remember? Of course, you do. Do you still have the-"

"No."

"Oh," Neil was taken aback by the vicious frown that clouded Andrew's face at the simple question but didn’t press. 

"I threw it away the first night," Andrew admitted after a lengthy silence. "For all I know, someone was trying to hurt me with the curse, with the vial of red hair." 

"It's alright," Neil said. It was. It didn’t matter anymore.

Andrew's eyes darted to his rat's nest of brown curls, his black eyes. "Glamour," he guessed. Neil nodded. 

"So you’re Rapunzel after all," Andrew said gravely. Laughter bubbled in Neil's stomach, and he shoved Andrew lightly. Andrew shoved back with shoulders nearly twice as wide, and Neil ended up on the floor of the porch, still laughing. Andrew watched him for a minute, then joined him. Together, they watched the cigarette smoke vanish into the wooden beams of the porch ceiling. 

Neil closed his eyes at the first touch of Andrew's hand against his. Andrew gently circled his thumb over the back of Neil's hand, then turned it over and traced the lines of his palm, finally slotting his fingers between Neil's, palm to palm, effectively stealing Neil's breath. 

"Is this okay?" Neil couldn’t help but ask.

"Yeah," Andrew answers, his voice much closer than Neil expected. He turned his head and his nose bumped with Andrew's. When he opened his eyes, Andrew's eyes were all he could see.

"What happens now?"

"Whatever you want to happen," Andrew answers.

"I need to go to Fairfold," Neil says. "You need to get back on your meds."

"You’re staying right here, and stop poking your nose into my business. I'm not your responsibility. " Andrew said mulishly. Neil rolled to his side. 

"Bullshit," he says. Andrew's eyes turned stony. "Andrew, if I'd known… If I'd remembered… I never would've let them put you on the meds." He takes in Andrew's gaunt features. "I know how much you hate drugs."

"I hate you," Andrew says without any heat. "Mind your own business, Josten."

"Not if it means leaving you behind," Neil says, surprising himself with how true the statement felt on his tongue. Andrew shoved him with a disgruntled groan. "You're a fucking pipe dream. Go away."

Neil goes away with a smile.


	4. Love is there when you open the door, and you step off the trail you knew before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go according to plan, more or less. Kevin makes an appearance. Jeremy is a cuddler.

By the time Neil reaches the borders between Fairfold and the next town, dusk has fallen. He doesn’t fear the creatures scuttling in the bushes. He is no human, no tourist. They sniff the air around him and fall back, watching from the shadows.

No, they're not what he's afraid of. 

His body is overcome with shivers and he shoves memories of his father away. Instead, he recalls last night and Andrew. 

Pressed shoulder to shoulder while they sat at the very edge of the roof, Neil had listened as Andrew talked and talked until he couldn’t gather enough energy and slumped against Neil's side. 

"Technically, I should be at Easthaven, going through withdrawal in a controlled environment," Andrew had said, his fingers laced through Neil's and turning his limbs loose with bliss.

"What are you really going to do?"

"Bee is going to supervise my withdrawal at Abby's house," Andrew answered. "What are you going to do, rabbit?" His thumb came to rest pointedly on Neil's pulse point. 

"I'm going to Fairfold," Neil said, closing his eyes to reign in his horror. Andrew's finger increased pressure, and he opened his eyes to burning amber. 

"You will go to Fairfold and you will stick to Renee like her shadow. You don’t do anything stupid. You. Don't. Run."

At that moment, Andrew's eyes and hands-on his, Neil couldn’t help but agree. Andrew hovered while he packed. An hour before Neil was to board a train to the drab little town next to Fairfold, Andrew shoved him to the couch with a frown. He brought with him gauze, antiseptics, and a pair of soft, woolly socks. Contrary to his scowling face, his hands were gentle as he redressed Neil's blistered feet. When that was done, he turned the socks inside out and slid them onto Neil's feet. 

Neil watched, unable to speak, unable to tell Andrew that measures like these were for humans, not a half-fae like Neil. He wasn’t susceptible to spells and enchantments. He didn’t need turned socks and pockets full of graveyard dust. But-

But this was Andrew showing he cared. This was Andrew showing he wanted Neil to be safe. This was Andrew being human and vulnerable. So Neil thanked him and went on his way. 

It was ridiculous, how much power Andrew had over him. There were times when he couldn’t even gather enough clarity for the next thought. If Andrew told him to stop breathing, he probably would. It went against everything he was ever taught, and yet he would stand and fight the world.

For Andrew.

As he reaches the address Renee gave him, he finds her and a tall, vaguely familiar boy standing outside, heads together in conversation. They startle at seeing him, and Neil's steps falter as he recognises the boy, who is none other than Jeremy Knox, captain of the Trojans. 

"Kevin would be so jealous of me," he tells Renee after the initial round of pleasantries.

"He didn’t come with you to make sure you don’t forget about exy?" Renee said drily. Jeremy snorted. 

"Come with me, you need to meet him already," Jeremy said, grabbing Neil's shoulders and guiding him to the back of the house. Neil's heart picked up speed again. Was it true? Was he-

God, there he was, a thin, cloudy shape floating a couple of inches above the ground, eyes trained on Neil.

“Jean,” Neil choked out and rushed to him. They reached for each other, but Neil's fingers went through Jean's like he was nothing but smoke. He took his hands back as if burned.

Jeremy placed his hand on Neil's shoulder and gently tugged at him. “Come,” he said. “We'll tell you everything." 

* * *

Jeremy observed the Foxes' newest recruit with critical eyes. He was short but lithe, he seemed to have enough grace to make a fast striker. There was a dusting of glamour, almost non-perceptible. He's probably got some fae blood in him, Jeremy thought. What vexed him about Neil was his obvious connection to Jean. Jeremy was pretty sure he knew now how Jean felt when he heard about Andrew Minyard being Renee's new friend. 

Oh, god. Jeremy was jealous. This was bad, really bad. He stood mechanically from the table they all surrounded and went out to find fresh air and sanity.

To kill time, he smudged some more sage ash on the doorways and windowsills. Stephanie was just coming home from visiting a friend when he finished, and he instantly noticed her pinched look.

"Things are bad," she told him. "The Monster has started showing up. It attacked Fairfold High today, midday, no less!"

Renee and the others had come out hearing Stephanie's car, and they caught the end of what she said. All three of them went pale.

"Are you sure it was her?" Neil asked. Renee looked at him, surprised.

"You know about Despair?" she asked.

"I know about Allison, yes. My… my family spent some time in Fairfold. I came across her, then."

"The Monster at the heart of the forest is named Allison?" Jeremy said, incredulous. "I thought her name was Despair! Next, you'll tell me the Alderking's name is Eustace!" 

Neil makes a strangled sound at his side, but Stephanie looks towards Renee.

"Everyone knows there's a monster at the heart of the forest. Everyone knows it is a tree, and it causes moss and dirt to fill your insides," Renee takes a shuddering breath. "But everyone forgot that the monster used to be a woman." 

Allison was young, strong and brave. She and her boyfriend kept the town safe from the more malicious fae. But one day, they went too far.

The Alderking had a human consort and had a child with her. He and his lackeys were hard on the two of them, and the woman decided to run away. She took the child and a few of the Alderking's treasures and ran. Allison and her lover helped them escape. To date, nobody knows what happened to them, whether they lived or perished.

But everyone knew what happened to Allison. A few days later Allison came home to her family all massacred. She ran out crying, only to see her boyfriend being dragged away. She chased them to the heart of the forest, but she was too late. The Alderking had slain her love. In that place, he cursed her to become a fae, the very thing she hated.

It is said that she grieved endlessly, lying in a patch of moss in the woods and weeping. So terrible was her grief that beetles and birds, mice and stags, all wept with her, rotting away to fur and bone in their misery. Rocks and trees wept with her, cracking and shedding leaves. Her grief transformed her. She became a monster, a monster that we now call Despair because her real name was wiped from everyone's minds. 

"I only remember that she was called Allison," Renee says sadly.

Jeremy took a quiet minute to digest this information. "So, she's a fae who used to be a human? Why is she coming into the town though? Is she looking for help?"

"I doubt it," Neil said. "The Alderking loves to play with his toys. It's possible that he's controlling her somehow. It's possible he's the only one who remembers her full name and uses that to order her around. Or he could be using a bone-" he cut himself off, his face going paperwhite. 

Stephanie shivered and drew her shawl tighter around her body. 

"Come inside, momma," Renee urged her. "And you guys, too. I fear it’s time to go to war."

* * *

Calling it 'war' might be too much. They mostly do research, keep themselves safe from the fae and worry over what could be coming. After four such harried weekends, they hit a dead end.

There's never been a case quite like Jean's. And while Neil and Jeremy have enough firepower between the two of them to manifest Jean's body where the spirit is, it still won't free him. There's a catch, and the solution to it makes them argue for hours.

Neil comes back to Palmetto and immediately goes to see Andrew.

It's not easy. Andrew refuses to let Neil see him and locks himself in the bedroom. Neil sits with his back to the door and refuses to leave. 

Andrew gives up on his scathing insults after a while. Neil feels a weight settle on the other side of the door and smiles to himself. 

"What do you want?" Andrew says petulantly. His voice is raw and broken like he's been screaming for days.

"I just wanted to hear your voice," Neil says, and then snorts at himself. "Just like old times, huh?"

"You make me want to kill you," Andrew rasps. 

"Have you been alright?" Neil asks. "Are you following Bee's orders?" 

Andrew's only answer is a groan. Neil takes it as a yes. With the barrier of wood between them, Neil feels bold like he's never been. 

"I need to tell you something," he starts. His throat suddenly feels dry. "My vision is going bad, like before. I can't see the outcome of my actions and I… I wish you weren't on the other side. I wish you were-"

Surprise cuts off his speech as he finds himself falling backward. It takes him a second to register that Andrew opened the door, and Neil is sprawled on the floor with Andrew on his chest. 

"Don't look at me," Andrew says into Neil's shoulder, his breath coming in short bursts. "Don't you dare look at me." 

"Okay," Neil says, dazed. "Can I hug you? Only I don’t know what to do with my hands. Do I-"

"Yes," Andrew breathes. "Above the waist."

With a hand thrown over Andrew's shoulder and one tangled into his messy hair, Neil feels more grounded than he has been in… ever, really. Andrew's warm weight is comfortable, too comfortable. It makes him fear what's in his future even more and he stiffens up again.

_Let me have this._ Neil prayed to whichever deity was listening. 

Andrew notices. Of course, he does. 

"You won't run," he says, nearly inaudible. "You won't. You can't. God, Abram, If I get out of this goddamn detox alive and find that you vanished, I'll fucking burn Fairfold to the ground."

The name rolling off Andrew's tongue makes Neil shiver, and not at all in a bad way. He loved the way it caught between Andrew's lips. His heartbeat too fast against Neil's, fluttering like a hummingbird. "I'm half-convinced that you’re a hallucination anyway," Andrew muttered. Neil huffed out a laugh.

"Renee has photos," he offered helpfully.

Andrew raised his head. Neil squeezed his eyes shut. After a long minute, Andrew spoke.

"Do you really think I would trust photographs when I know glamour like this exists?" He sounded weary. He traced a thumb over Neil's eyebrows. "Drop it."

Despite promising Andrew he wouldn’t look, Neil's eyes popped open. "What, now?" 

"Abby's downstairs." 

Neil lies back and closes his eyes again, letting his glamour fall away. It's difficult, like letting go of a blanket in the dead of winter. He's been comfortable under its weight for so, so long. 

Andrew slides a hand through his hair. It's long, down to his shoulders. It grew back after his mother took it for the curse, and he's not bothered to cut it. Andrew tugs on it.

"Give me," he says. 

"Give you… what?" Neil asks. "Technically there's nothing I'd deny giving you, probably. But you gotta clarify."

"Don't be cute, Josten," this time, the tug smarted a little. "A bit of your hair in a bottle, like before."

"Like before," Neil echoed. "Okay, sure. Stay here. I'll borrow a pair of scissors from Abby and give it to her, yeah?"

Andrew shifted off him silently, limping inside the room. He looked dead on his feet. Just as Neil started down the stairs, he called.

"Neil," he said. "Don't do anything stupid."

"I won't," Neil promises. 

* * *

"I've been thinking," Neil declared, shoving another handful of berries in his mouth. Jean scoffed.

"Don't hurt yourself," the spirit muttered.

Neil gave him the stinkiest of stink-eyes. "Original, Moreau."

He went back to picking more berries, and Jean would be worried about poisoning if not for the knowledge that Neil knew these woods like the back of his hands, even all these years later. He came back and Fairfold welcomed him with open arms. With his glamour dropped, rust-red curls and mouth stained with berry, there was absolutely no way he could be mistaken as a mortal. 

"As I was saying," Neil continued pointedly. "I was thinking about just becoming an exy player. It pays much better than being a clairvoyant anyway."

Jean narrowed his eyes at Neil, whose words had been airy, but his shoulders were bunched up nearly up to his ears. 

" _Mon petit lapin_ , what are you not telling me?"

Neil stared at the berries in his fist. "I… I've had trouble with my clairvoyance. Before M-mom died a-and I lost Andrew and even now… I feel like I'll lose him again-"

"Hold up!" Jean gasped. "Andrew? Mary cursed you because of Andrew? You lost memories of _him_?" 

Neil looks at him then, and his eyes, oh, his eyes.

"You love him," Jean says. "You love Andrew Minyard. Does he love you?"

Neil goes pink. "What does it matter?" he says. "You should tell me about your love, instead," he continues, sly. "It seems my prediction is finally coming true."

"Death, or love," Jean remembers. "I feel death is more probable."

"So you deny that Jeremy is-"

Jean scoffs. "He definitely isn’t the love of my life, Neil."

"But," Neil makes a lucky guess. Jean really hates him sometimes. But the little imp can see through Jean like nobody else can. 

"But." Jean agrees, soft as a whisper as if he's afraid someone would listen to his admission. It feels like a secret that he shouldn’t let go of.

Neil smiles at him. "I'm happy for you. Jeremy has a good heart."

If Jean had a body, he would be blushing. It felt incredible to admit his infatuation to someone else. "What if he doesn’t-"

"Oh, fuck off," Neil threw a twig at Jean - _through_ Jean - and frowned. "Anyone can see the way he looks at you. He's heartsick, that's for sure."

Jean splutters from surprise. "Looks at- such drivel! He doesn’t- I have no idea- shut up!" he tells a laughing Neil. "And how does Andrew look at you, then?"

Neil immediately sobers up and groans, covering his face in his palm. "Gods above, Jean, you had to ask that?" His blush has spread to his ears, and he looks, well, heartsick.

"When Andrew looks at me," he whispers, "Sometimes, when he looks at me, I feel like he's an open flame and I would burn, I would burn like the sun."

He's still covering his face, but now he's smiling like an idiot. An idiot in love, Jean thinks fondly.

"I'm going to haunt him if he hurts you," Jean promises.

"He won't hurt me," Neil says, confident. And Jean has to admit, he sounds convincing. 

"Who won't hurt you?"

Both Neil and Jean yell in surprise, jumping around to look at the intruder. "Fuck, Jeremy, how did you sneak up like that?" Neil grumbles. "I didn’t even know you were supposed to get here so early." 

"I didn’t really sneak," Jeremy says, eyes wide. "You two weren’t paying attention. Now come on. Renee needs help baking." 

Neil runs off immediately, leaving Jean alone with Jeremy. Jeremy, who's looking peculiarly at Jean, a little like -

_Like he's an open flame and Jean would burn like the sun._

* * *

Caoimhín is here.

Jean was out hunting for herbs with Renee. Being a glorified ghost, he couldn’t actually pick up the plants, but he could surely find them among the dense undergrowth just behind the Walkers' house. He was bantering with Renee when he heard an unmistakable voice call out Renee's name.

Caoimhín Seán Deiwynn. Jean's first best friend. Jean's first love. Jean's nights full of pain and tears of betrayal. Better known as Kevin Day. 

Jean drifts towards the house. Through the canopy of ferns and vines, he can make out a person clad in red walking out of the back door. 

Kevin stops dead on his track when he spots Jean. It’s not easy in the sunlight that goes almost 100% through Jean. Was Kevin expecting him? 

Renee comes up to the two of them with her basket. "I'll start sorting them out. You can keep looking." An offering to let Jean have a modicum of privacy.

"It's ok," he says. "Let's go inside. I'm sure Kevin would like some of those oats cookies you made last week."

At the mention of his favorite cookies, Kevin looks away from Jean. Jean follows Renee to the house, Kevin trailing behind.

As soon as Renee disappears into the kitchen, Kevin opens his big fat mouth.

"Jean, I'm sor-"

"I swear to god Caoimhín, if you finish that sentence I'll throw you out of the window." 

Kevin's mouth shuts with an audible click, and Jean hates that look in his eyes. All that sadness, all that pity, all that what if.

"I didn’t know," Kevin whispers. "I thought you decided to break up with me. How was I supposed to know what happened? How was I supposed to know it wasn’t you?"

"You were supposed to know because you loved me," Jean's words hurt like fire as they leave his mouth. "You of all people should've known."

Kevin rubs a hand over his face, about to apologise again. Jean cuts him off.

"Stop," he says a bit harshly. "What's done is done. You can't undo anything that happened. Why are you here?" 

Kevin looks tired. "Níall has been coming here."

"Don't speak that name," Jean hisses.

"He's in danger, Jean. He can't be here. You should tell him to leave."

"Tell him yourself," Jean says. "He'll be back any minute."

"You-," Kevin's eyes widen. "Did he actually go into the forest? Jean! He'll get killed there!"

"He's with Jeremy," Jean crosses his arms. "I trust Jeremy."

"Jeremy is human! He can't protect Neil if his-"

"Ahem," Neil interrupts. "Excuse you, Kevin. I need no protection. I can protect myself just fine."

He and Jeremy step inside the living room. Jeremy looks pleasantly surprised at seeing Kevin. 

"Kevin Day!" he exclaimed. "It's good to see you off a court!"

Kevin accepted his embrace generously, his hand sliding over Jeremy's shoulders. Jean hated how Kevin was looking at him over Jeremy's shoulder.

"You're endangering Jeremy too," Kevin whispered in french. "Have you thought of that?"

"Kindly fuck off, Kevin," Neil said in the same language, annoyed. "We're already having trouble convincing Jean to go through with the ritual. We don’t need your pessimism."

"But you can't! You know what will happen to you! Jean! You can't let him -"

"Top yelling at Jean! Renee, Jeremy and I are helping him because we care for him!" Neil was fuming. "Go away would you?" 

Kevin heaved a great sigh and switched back to English. "Fine, I'll stop. Since I'm already here, let me help. I'm not going into the blasted forest, but I can help with research."

Jeremy's confused frown turned into a blinding smile. And just for that, Jean let Kevin stay.

* * *

Jeremy's weekend mornings have fallen into a routine. It's simple. He wakes up next to Jean, spends an almost certainly inappropriate amount of time looking at him, and goes downstairs for breakfast with Renee and Neil who also made it a habit to come to Fairfold over the weekend. 

Waking up next to the spirit takes his breath away every time. As he watches sunlight cut through his smokey shoulders, Jeremy tries to imagine a solid body in its place. He tries to recall Jean Moreau from his memories of the court. 

He can't. It's impossible to reconcile the irritable but quiet spirit with the inhumanly efficient, stony wall of a defender on the court. They're not the same, not even a bit.

"You're being a creep, Knox," Jean said without opening his eyes. Jeremy felt the threat of a fond smile taking over his face.

"Just thinking of how to convince you to-"

"Jeremy!" Jean flies off the bed. "You know we can't!"

Jeremy groans into his pillow. "Why, why are you so against this? I'm trying to free you!" 

Jean throws his hands up in frustration and stalks out of the room. Jeremy stretches, thinking about their present debacle. 

If they wanted to get Jean his body back, they had to start tonight, which was a full moon. By the time the next full moon rolls by, the enchantment would be complete and Jean would have a body at last.

The problem was the blasted contract. 

Jean was bound to the Alderking's servitude by a magical contract. Even if he ran away, he could be brought back time and time again because of that piece of paper.

"We can find it, and burn it or something?" Renee had suggested.

"It can't be burnt," Neil had told her. "Only transferred to someone of the same lineage," at this point, he'd looked at Jean, and everyone including Jeremy saw the horrified look on Jean's face. It would still be slavery for Jean, it seemed. 

"Maybe we can convince the fae who gets possession of you to let you go for a price?" Renee suggested.

"No! And we're done talking about this!" Jean had said. Well, Jeremy kinda agreed with him. Where would you find a fae that kind? 

But Neil still insisted on badgering Jean about it. He'd set his mind to it firmly.

"I'm a clairvoyant," he'd confessed to Jeremy and Renee one Saturday night when Jean was too harried to be in their presence. "I've been seeing him suffer for years, I won't let this go on."

That explained a little of how they were such good friends, Jeremy thought. Neil proceeded to convince them that bringing Jean's body first really was the best idea. It would take at least a day for Jean to settle into the body again, but after that, he would be more clear-headed and would be able to assist them in planning on how to get rid of the contract. 

Now they just needed to convince Jean.

They each took a different avenue. Neil, stubborn asshole that he was, kept nattering at Jean every chance he got. Renee was more subtle and only brought it up to guilt-trip him. Jeremy…

He was still waiting for the right time.

Sure enough, after they'd had breakfast, Neil and Renee ganged up on Jean and he had an outburst, filling the kitchen with a rotten egg smell as he fled. Jeremy went looking and found him a little way into the forest. He called Jean's name and hurried to encircle his wrist with his fingers. Amazingly, the spirit stopped but ripped his hand out of Jeremy's grip.

"Are you insane?" Jeremy raged. "It's dangerous for you out here!" 

Jean's eyes were trained to the snow dusting the earth. The thin purple miasma no longer surrounded him, but Jeremy was still cautious.

"Did they send you to try again?" Jean bit out. "Don't you know when to give up? I'm not some sad little damsel in distress waiting to be rescued, I can fight my own battles, I have my own strength-"

"I know," Jeremy cut in. "I know, Jean. But we want to help you because we're your friends, and we can't just sit still while you’re being tortured," he ended gently. "Look what they're doing to you," Jeremy said, trailing a hand over a bruise visible on Jean's jaw. "It's been weeks and your body hasn’t been free of marks even once. We can't tolerate that." Jeremy takes in a deep breath. "I can't tolerate that." 

Jean looked up at that, eyes piercing through Jeremy. He didn’t dare move, feeling like he was on top of a precipice. The casual confession didn’t feel so casual now that it was out of his mouth. Jeremy half wished he could take it back. 

"Alright," Jean said at last. Jeremy stared, dumbfounded, earning a scoff from Jean. "Don't make me change my mind," he warned.

"Thank you," Jeremy said at last. He felt weightless with relief. 

Jean didn’t answer at first. His eyes swam with darkness and he floated closer to Jeremy. 

"You'll get one chance. Just one"

* * *

Neither Jeremy, Neil or Renee could manage to stay over on weekdays, so the ritual was slow. Even so, they tried to scrounge up as much time as possible. Neil cancelled his nightly exy practices. The respite helped him concentrate on spells much better during weekend nights when they worked on prepping Stephanie's house. Renee spent hours collecting herbs from around Palmetto. Jeremy stopped taking on new exorcism works, albeit with a niggle of guilt in his heart. 

Is he worth it? Laila asked him one afternoon as he was going over his notes. 

Jeremy blinked a few times, mind going hazy. “I really didn’t think of it this way, about any of the spirits, Laila. Don't they deserve help? Aren’t they worth helping?”

“Jer. Exorcism takes days, weeks at best. You've been obsessed with Jean for months.”

“Laila, I know you’re worried about me, but don’t be a dick.”

Laila pouted but dropped the topic. Jeremy couldn’t shake it off his mind.

Was Jean worth it? Was he worth all these sleepless nights and ignored exorcism calls? Jeremy closed his eyes and imagined Jean becoming human. He imagined the defender on court, only instead of pinning Jeremy with a death glare, there was a small, hesitant smile on his face. Instead of slamming Jeremy to the plexiglass wall, he offered Jeremy a hand, a hand that was warm, and about twice as large as Jeremy's hands. Jeremy thought of mornings when he'd felt the need to sink his fingers into a nest of messy black hair, of all the evenings when he'd wanted to kiss the little mole right behind and below Jean's right ear. The rush he gets when he touches the spirit. The anger that brews in his heart when he thinks of Jean stuck in that dismal warehouse. The warmth in his veins when he makes a crooked smile bloom on Jean's face.

Yes. Jean is worth everything. 

* * *

The next full moon is nearly obliterated by storm clouds rolling in from the east. Jeremy's heart feels like it'll beat out of his chest. He looks around, takes in the grey faces of Neil, Renee, and Jean. They're just as scared as he is. But they can't wait. There's nothing more that can be done now. 

The ever so familiar guest room looks alien, decked in flickering candlelight, chalked runes on every surface. Jean lies still on the bed while the others surround him.

Later, Jeremy would have time to think how and why Renee has such lovely ritual daggers, but he just admires them now, as they used these daggers to draw their own blood, each sacrificing a little to jump-start the ritual.

Neil starts chanting in a language that sounds long forgotten, and after a few minutes, Renee joins in hesitantly. Surprise after surprise. Where did she even learn that?

Jeremy keeps watch, ready to deflect any and all fae if they show up. The months spent around Neil had been good. He knows so many more ways to battle the fae now. He's so focused on his work that he violently starts when the screaming begins. 

Jean is whole, substantial. He has his body back, which is blooming with bruises everywhere but his face. But that's not why Jean is screaming. He writhes on the bed as if he's being burnt alive.

Neil is the first to unfreeze. "Bathtub! We need to put him in water, now!"

Jeremy hurries towards the bed alongside Neil, but when the redhead touches Jean, he screams louder. 

"Stop! Don't touch me!"

Neil backed up at once, looking towards Jeremy helplessly. From inside the adjoining bathroom, Renee yells that the water's ready. 

Jeremy grits his teeth and braces his knee on the bed.

"I'm sorry, Jean," he says before he gathers the man in his arms. Jean screams nearly deafening, and one of his flailing elbows hits Jeremy on the side of his head.

The pain makes his head swim for a second, but Jeremy grits his teeth and gathers Jean against his chest. "His legs," he yells at Neil. "Get his legs!"

Neil manages to grab Jean's legs, and together they carry Jean to the bathtub. After a second's hesitation, Jeremy gets into the tub carrying Jean, and Neil drops his legs with a splash. Jean bucks and tries to throw Jeremy off, but his screams start to dwindle off. 

"It's alright, Jean!" Jeremy tells him. "I know it hurts but it'll be gone soon. You'll be okay soon. I promise, just hang on." 

Jeremy keeps repeating the words. The water cools, Jeremy starts to feel disgusting in his wet jeans. Jean has stopped screaming and is instead whimpering against Jeremy's chest, whether because he hurts less or he's lost his voice, Jeremy doesn’t know. 

"It's ok, it’s ok. You're alright, I'm here," Jeremy whispers, his own voice raspy with talking for so long. At some point, Neil and Renee help them both out of the tub. Jean can barely move, and Jeremy isn’t much better off. Exhaustion, stress and cold water is making him lethargic. Neil helps Jean change into a dry pair of sweats and then is gone. Jeremy manages to tug off his wet clothes and into his spare boxers, then he's taking what's usually his side of the bed, as per habit.

"Goodnight, Jean," he says, before succumbing to sleep. 

* * *

Jean doesn’t remember if he's had any dreams because he wakes up wrapped up in Jeremy. Jeremy's arms are loose around Jean's chest, his hair tickling Jean's neck, his toes again cold against Jean's calf. Jean's frozen for a couple of seconds before arousal hits him like a freight train.

He groans, and Jeremy makes a sleepy hum against the back of Jean's right ear. 

"Jeremy!" Jean hisses and bats at his shoulder.

"Another minuh… lemme sleep…"

The words act like a bucket of cold water on Jean's body. Oh god. He's still asleep. He squirms out of Jeremy's grasp and manages to leave the bed. He stands carefully, holding onto the wall as he reaches the window.

Morning light splashes onto the bed and Jeremy's naked torso. The blankets have slipped down to his waist. Now that Jean's moved away, Jeremy's on his stomach, hogging the small bed. 

Jean glares at Jeremy, cinnamon brown skin splattered with freckles, the dips of his back muscles, his fingers clutching the pillow. As he glares (stares), Jeremy lets out a sleepy hum into the pillow, and Jean all but flees the room.

_Does he know what he's doing to me?_

* * *

"Andrew," Kevin said desperately. "Aren’t you going to tell us what this is about?" 

Andrew's only answer was a stony silence. His knuckles gripped the steering wheel so hard they turned white. Andrew had woken them up at the crack of dawn, told them to pack for the weekend and then nearly flew them off in his car. Aaron had caught on where he was heading three hours on the road and had yelled at his brother profusely. But his iron-sickness had made him lose steam soon enough. 

The thought of going anywhere near Fairfold scared Kevin shitless, and he was already pretty frazzled from Andrew's driving. His detoxing was barely finished. Should he even be driving?

This has something to do with Neil, Kevin is sure. He has somehow seamlessly entangled himself with Andrew within mere months. The way Andrew looks at him makes alarm bells go off in Kevin's head. 

He just hopes Neil won't get them killed.

* * *

Renee had a terrible night's sleep. Despair, no, Allison, kept invading her dreams.

_Blood and bones and gone. And bones are taken,_ she wails. _Bones are chains. Wake me up. Wake me up. Wake me up!_

She's relieved to be woken up by the furious pounding at the door. She drags herself off the bed by the time Stephanie has attended to it. The next knock is on her bedroom door. Opening it, she finds Andrew. 

She's never seen him look this agitated. His eyes are sunken, face gaunt.

"Renee," he rasps. "Where's Neil?" 


	5. Here comes the pain, here comes the pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is says on the tin.

Andrew fingers the little note in his pocket as he steps up the stairs at Stephanie's house. He'd found a little walnut with a thin bow of grass tied around it in the pocket of one of his hoodies. The grass unfurled easily, and the two halves of the walnut came apart. Inside was a small scrap of paper, rolled up like a scroll.

_Thank you, you were amazing_ , it said. 

That single _were_ grated on Andrew's nerves. He had to see his… his Neil. Right now. To make sure he was alright and not being an absolute idiot.

The door at the top of the stairs was open. Andrew spied someone sitting on the windowsill. His heartbeat slowed instantly. Neil is ok, he thought. He's fine.

Neil spots Andrew and just about flies off his perch. Andrew stumbles back against the wall beside the door with an armful of Neil. His red hair is flying all over the place. 

"I missed you so much, Andrew. So much. You can't imagine."

Andrew tightens his arms around the boy's waist. "What's the deal with the little message, rabbit?"

"What-? Oh, that's nothing. Forget about it, please," Neil keeps going, not noticing how Andrew has gone stock still. "Won't you kiss me?" he says coyly. "I've been dying to, you know?" With that, he clutches Andrew's face and kisses him. Confused, Andrew shoves him away.

"Neil? What-" his head is spinning with confusion, his limbs stiff. Neil smirks, and there's an edge in it. 

"Too much, AJ?" the boy says, and barrels into him. Andrew's too slow and his head is knocked against the door jamb, making him see stars. Neil wraps his fingers around Andrew's neck in a chokehold. 

The next second, he's howling in pain and backing away, a hand on his eye where Andrew has impaled a thin iron knife. 

"What did you do? What did you do??" the fae growls, voice completely unlike what it was a second ago. His glamour is slipping, and Andrew's blood runs cold at the familiar face that is unravelled. 

The door is wrenched open and Aaron enters, Renee's spare racquet in hand. He takes in the fallen fae and Andrew, his face going paperwhite. Nicky and Jeremy come running behind him, brandishing iron and sage. They spend no time in restraining the fae. 

Aaron is frantic, pressing a piece of cloth on Andrew's temple (is he bleeding?) and Aaron's asking something butAndrew can't look away from him. 

"Drake," Andrew says and hates the weakness in his voice. 

Aaron does a double-take. "Your foster brother? You said he was human!"

Drake cackles loudly. "He doesn’t know! Li'l AJ never guessed! I'm a changeling, Aaron, just like you," he leers. Aaron has to stop Andrew when he tries to rush at the asshole. 

"Where's Neil?" Andrew demands. "Where did you take him?" 

"First of all, do you really not know Néall's real name?" Drake scoffs. Kevin makes a strangled sound in his voice. "Second of all, take him?" he mock gasps. "Your boy didn’t need to be taken anywhere. He went willingly when I told him what the Alderking would do to his friends if he didn’t go back to Daddy." 

"No, god, no," Jean whispers.

"It was your fault anyway," Drake says. "After the ritual, your contract changed. The Alderking's name got erased and Néall's name showed up. That's when his dad got really angry." 

"So, Neil's father is in the Alderking's court? A gentry, perhaps?" Jeremy asks. Andrew almost doesn’t hear when Kevin says, "No."

Something in Kevin's voice and expression tips Andrew off, and he pins his friend with a stony glare.

"What do you mean, no?"

Kevin closes his eyes like he's praying. "Neil's father IS the Alderking."

* * *

Jeremy watches Jean dress in Kevin Day's clothes, shoes and underwear and wishes he was a little taller.

"You really don’t have to go," he pleads. "We can get him back ourselves. You should rest."

Spirit Jean would've burst out with fury. This Jean though, he stares at Jeremy placidly. "Do you really think I could rest while he's probably being killed right now?"

Jeremy deflates, "Well, no. Just thought it was worth a try. I don’t want you to get hurt."

"Very noble intentions, but stupid."

"No," Jeremy lowers his voice. "Not noble. Selfish." He shuts his mouth and leaves Jean before he could question Jeremy's word choice. It wasn’t the time, really. Last night's success got completely overshadowed by the horror. Neil was the Alderking's son? The one that got away? Jeremy felt dread settle like lead in his stomach. The Alderking wasn’t known for being merciful to those who cross him. 

In the living room, he encounters the Minyards. Both brothers sat side by side on the couch, each lost in their own thoughts, their hands clasped in the middle.

"Where's the fae?"

The twins looked at him at the same time, the synchronization was so perfect it made Jeremy's skin crawl.

"It's been taken care of," Aaron said vaguely. "We found some stuff on him," he waved at the coffee table. Jeremy picked through the small pile of junk. Most were shit he wouldn’t touch with a ten feet pole. But one thing would be useful. Jeremy whooped when he found the small stub.

"What is it?" Nicky asked, peeking out of the kitchen. 

"It's a Babylon candle," Jeremy waved it. "It can take us to Neil in an instant."

"I've heard of it in the court," Jean offered, coming to stand behind Jeremy. "Only a few in the court have it. The cretin must've stolen it from somewhere."

"So now we have a way to reach the Alderking's court, what are we waiting for?" Jeremy urged. 

It was decided then. Jean and Aaron would lead the way as they'd been in the court before. Kevin and Andrew after that, Renee and Jeremy in the rear. Nicky would stay with Stephanie, in case any attack came on the house. 

It hasn’t been more than an hour since the fae attacked, but Andrew had composed himself almost to perfection. His temple is patched up, and he's changed out of his bloodstained clothes. Only the clenched-white knuckles tell the story of his unrest.

They gather around the front lawn, Jeremy in the middle and others linking hands with him. "Step forward together," he warns before lighting the Babylon candle.

They step in unison, and they're in the Alderking's Court.

* * *

Inside the court, there was utter chaos.

Resting on huge tiles of grey stone was a throne that seemed to be shaped from the rock itself. It was covered in pelts, and a man in armour was seated upon it. His hair was cropped short, his eyes as cruel as his smile, yet there was no doubt that this was Neil's father.

Jean's eyes slid down to the bench to the left of the Alderking's throne. It takes him a minute to realise that the bloody mess surrounded by shiny blades is his best friend. 

An anguished scream splits his throat, just as Andrew Minyard rushes to Neil. He's in good hands, Jean thought. His attention snags on the Alderking who seems amused, watching Jean's friends being surrounded by his gentry.

They're outnumbered. That's what happens when people rush into a trap, panicked by the threat of someone loved getting in harm's way.

They're shoved together in a circle, except for Andrew who's bent over Neil's whimpering form.

"Don't hurt them," Neil's thin voice carries over. "You said you wouldn’t hurt them."

The Alderking sighs. "I said I would leave them alone. Now that they're here, willingly, I have no reason to hold back."

He smiles then, and it’s a vile, vile thing. Jeremy curses low, somehow he's stuck by Jean's side since they landed in the god-awful place. 

"I'm sorry this happened right after we got your body back," Jeremy murmurs. "How about I take you out for dinner tomorrow?"

"Smooth," Jean retorts. "Are there sushi places in the afterlife, you think?"

The situation is dire. Things don’t look good for Neil either, as the Alderking orders one of his cronies to fetch Neil. Andrew fights off the fae, but another one comes, and then another. He's bound to get tired.

"Jean Moreau," the Alderking calls lazily, and Jean's blood freezes. An all-encompassing shiver starts at the base of his spine, and the touch on his face is a shock.

Jean meets Jeremy's eyes, his palms cupping Jean’s face lovingly.

“He cannot control you anymore, darling. You’re free.” The Alderking is annoyed and stops trying to order Jean. Instead, he raises a hand and waves it.

Jeremy's hands slip away. "Oh no," Aaron says in horror. "He's summoning Despair!"

Jeremy shook his head in disbelief. "He's such a- I can't believe he'd use her lover’s bone like that." Jean squinted, and sure enough, there was a thin bracelet on the Alderking's wrist, made of small bones. He felt like throwing up. Are those toes? Fingers? 

Despair was here. Jean heard her in his head. It was like being caught in the current of a river. Like a diver who had lost any sense of direction, thrashing around, not sure which way led to air and which to death.

He could think of nothing but the miserable moments in his life. The moment he was taken from his parents, the moment Riko kicked him so hard he blacked out, the moment his soul was torn from his body. Over and over, the memories kept coming. His breath came shorter and shorter.

Jean blinked. Aaron was finishing tying a knot in his hair and whispering, “You will not weep until I give you leave.”

Aaron had enchanted him against Despair's spell. Jean realized his cheeks were wet. He had no idea how long he’d been lost to it, but around the room, people wept and wailed still. Jeremy already had a braid in his hair. When did Aaron do that? 

"Blood and bones and gone," a voice thick with tears sang. "I loved him and he’s dead and gone and bones. I loved him and they took him away from me. Where is he? Where is he? Dead and gone and bones. Dead and gone and bones. Where is he?”

Despite Aaron's enchantment, Jean could feel the chasm opening in his heart, again. Jeremy whimpered and plastered himself to Jean's side.

"Stop, make it stop!" he pleaded.

Jean could only watch, frozen in place as Despair approached. He’d never seen her from this close, often imagined her as hideous, something foul and twisted, but her appearance was that of a living tree, one covered in moss and dried, decaying vine. She had branches instead of bone, and roots spreading from her feet like the train of a dress. From her head rose a wild thicket of tiny branches, sticking up along one side, matted with thick clumps of dirt and leaves. Black eyes peered out of knotholes in the wood. Sticky reddish sap wetted her face, running from the knotholes of her eyes, mimicking the paths of tears. She was as beautiful as she was terrifying.

She towered over them, at least a foot higher than anyone in the room. She approached Jean's circle of friends, cutting a path through the fae. Panicked, one fae ran right into her path. Despair swatted at her as if the fae were but an insect. That caused the fae to crash into a wall, causing a deep crack to form.

In the newly-formed crack, moss and mold began to spill into the room, like water into the hull of a leaking boat.

"Stop her," Neil yelled in a strangled voice. He'd sat up, leaning on Andrew. "Renee," he yelled at the girl. "You were alive when she was human. Remember her name and stop her!"

"That's enough from you, I think," the Alderking growled, reaching to pick up a heavy ax from the side of his throne. "I was only planning to cut off your knees, but now I see it's your tongue that needs to go."

Renee backed away as Despair kept coming closer. "I-I can't! I only know her name was Allison!"

Despite the danger, Jeremy ran across the room to stand next to Neil and Andrew, bottle of holy water held out like a knife. The Alderking only laughed, adding to the cacophony of the room. 

"You'll all die here," the Alderking said casually. "Maybe then my wayward son would learn his lessons."

"No!" Neil spat. "I won't let you take me again. Remember, Renee! Remember! I bid you remember!" 

The massive shockwave of power that ran through the room stunned Jean. Even the Alderking stopped for a second. Renee gasped as if in pain.

"Allison," she started. "Allison Jamaica Raynolds, stop! You are no longer under the Alderking's command!"

There was a howl of rage from the Alderking, realizing Neil had torn through his enchantment. He hoisted the ax over his head to strike. It was then that Allison's twig fingers grasped the Alderking. 

Astonished, his eyes went wide and he howled, calling for his knights, screaming curses. She held him and kept on holding him until his body went slack, ax sliding from his grasp.

Then she dropped him onto the stone floor. For a minute, everyone stayed frozen in place. Then Allison spoke, in a voice hoarse with decades' worth of tears, 

"Good fucking riddance."

* * *

Back at the Walker household, everything was peaceful. Jean had an Afghan wrapped around his shoulder, quietly watching his friends rattle around the living room. After the whole ordeal, most of the solitary fae pledged allegiance to Allison, and she seemed more than happy to take over the position of the Alderking. King, not queen, she'd stressed that part. Thinking about it made Jean smile. 

Jeremy gently knocked Jean with his shoulders. "Whatcha smiling about?" he demanded. Jeremy was half asleep, leaning on Jean with all of his weight. It was nice, one of the new feelings Jean was starting to appreciate, like the warmth of the fire or the sting of too much sugar on his teeth. 

(Or the way his blood sang when Jeremy Knox smiled.) 

"Allison will be a good king," he says. "Maybe Fairfold will be alright, now."

Jeremy watched him, eyes more alert than they were a minute ago. "You plan on staying here?"

Jean looked at Jeremy like he'd grown a second head. "No way! You think I wanna spend another minute here?"

Jeremy's relief is evident on his face. "Good, I was wondering, now that you're not duty-bound to the Alderking, or the Moriyama, the Trojans could really do with a defence player."

"Are you trying to woo me, Captain Knox?"

"I dunno, is it working?"

"What's in it for me?" Jean pretends to be uninterested. "I could just join the foxes." Jeremy pretends to think a bit.

"Well, there aren’t any fae on my team. Also, we get to hang out whenever we want. No waiting for the weekends, anymore."

Jean swallows, all traces of humour gone. "You really don’t want me around all the time, though."

Jeremy's smile is soft, and a little sad. "I do, though," he whispers and turns to fully face Jean. "I could wake up next to you every day, take you to see the ocean, take you on a date, take you on _many_ dates."

"Jeremy," Jean says desperately. "I'm broken. You don't want me."

"I do," Jeremy edges closer, close enough that his breath caressed Jean's lips. A hand slid up Jean's neck and into his hair. "I do want you, sweetheart," he said, before closing the last inch between their lips.

The kiss sang through Jean's blood-like liquid fire. Jeremy, like everything else he does, kissed gently. He waited till Jean was lost in the sensation, then coaxed his mouth open. 

White, hot pleasure ripped a groan through Jean, and Jeremy, regrettably, leaned away.

"We're in public, Moreau, behave," he teased, but his breathing was just as laboured as Jean's, and his eyes were impossibly darker. Jean tried to glare. 

"Later," Jeremy promised with a sinful smirk, and Jean stifled another groan. 

* * *

Outside, snow started to fall. It quickly obscured the freshly dug graves of Drake Spear and the Alderking. It fell over Allison's boughs as she walked and laughed with a rainbow-haired mortal she'd been friends with, years and years ago. It fell over Andrew Minyard's motionless body as he stood outside waiting for news of his beloved's health.

And all was well in Fairfold.

(Or it would be, shortly.) 

* * *

Pain leaves its aftershocks. 

Even as Neil floated in a dark pool of oblivion, he could feel his nerves on fire. He wanted to scream, but could not.

He burned, and burned some more.

He could hear snatches of conversation through the thick veil of consciousness. 

"Oonagh, I cannot, do not ask me," a voice that was both like and unlike Andrew's pleaded. "Let me live, let me be a human, let me be a brother, a friend and a lover. When they're all gone," his breath hitched, "I will come back and learn what it means to be a fae. I will learn what it means to be your son. Not now. Do not ask me now." 

"Eoin," a sad voice sighed. "My beautiful boy. Go. Go and break your own heart if you must."

Neil drifts. He thinks he hears Jean and Kevin talking in choked whispers. Riko Moriyama is dead, they say. The Alderking's life was tied to his as a precaution. Now Ichirou Moriyama has decided to form new treaties with Allison, the new Alderking. He's no longer interested in Jean, or Caoimhín, or even Níall.

Neil hears Renee at one point. "I haven’t been to the court since you rescued me," she's telling someone. "I'm glad the Alderking is dead. Things will be different now."

"They surely will be," a melodious voice replied. "I'll make sure of it." 

After days, weeks or perhaps months pass, Neil wakes up comfortable and surprisingly free of pain. Whether he's been given a numbing potion or not, he's not sure. But the sheets are soft, the air smells like flowers and freshwater, and as he opens his eyes he can see-

"Andrew," he whispers happily, reaches out a hand towards him. Andrew steps back.

"What's wrong?"

Andrew stays unmoving, and a cold weight drops into Neil's stomach.

"Andrew?"

"You left," Andrew says without any infliction, any emotion. "You promised. And then you left."

Neil sits up, the world tilts dangerously. "I had to."

Andrew whips his head to glare at Neil and oh, oh, he's furious, isn’t he? There's a world's worth of anger and fear and sorrow he held inside him.

"I had to," Neil repeats. "He said he'd hurt you-"

"So you gave yourself up? So you let yourself be hurt? You couldn’t tell us?"

Andrew's words struck like lightning and Neil had to close his eyes against them. "I wasn’t going to take a chance on your lives!"

"That doesn’t make it alright to walk to your death!" Andrew strides to Neil's bed and leans over him, pinning him down onto the soft mattress. "I don’t care what your reason is. I don’t want to know what it’s like to live when you’re gone. I told you to stay and you left, you left, you-" 

A warm droplet falls on Neil's cheek. Then another. Then another. Neil fists his hands in Andrew's shirt and drags him closer. 

"No, no no no, don't cry. I'm here. I'm alright."

"You almost weren’t," Andrew manages to say. “It's been a week. A week, Neil."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for worrying you. It won't happen again. I won't leave your side."

Andrew exhales shakily, tucking his face under Neil's chin. "No other idiotic best friends to rescue?" he says.

"No. No more evil parents, either. Just you and me."

Andrew huffs and rolls off Neil, looking up at the ceiling. There are gauzy white sheafs of goblin silk draped over the bed frame. They must be at the Alderking's court still.

"Allison is the new Alderking," Andrew says. "The others are all safe and left already. Aaron and Nicky and Kevin went back to Palmetto. Your-"

A yawn interrupts Andrew's sleep-slurred words and Neil smiles. His friends are safe, that's all that matters to him. There are bags under Andrew's eyes, and when he opens his mouth to talk, Neil interrupts.

"You talk too much," he admonishes. Andrew's watching him with something like a pout. Neil slowly, slowly drapes himself over Andrew; his head on Andrew's shoulder, an arm on Andrew's waist.

"Okay?" he asks to be sure. In response, Andrew wraps an arm around Neil's waist and holds him closer. Together, they drift off to sleep. 

(And all was well in the world, finally.)


	6. Epilogue: Baby, keep your eyes on me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it's done! Enjoy the fluff/smut

Stephanie's kitchen smelled so fucking good, Jeremy stopped in his tracks and took a deep breath. Mmm. Maple syrup, cinnamon, oh god is that peanut butter? 

"Renee, where are the cookies?" he asked desperately. "I'll die if you tell me they're all gone."

Renee's chiming laughter is joined by another voice, and as Jeremy peeks into the kitchen, he finds Allison leaning on the outside of the window.

"Your boy has them," the Alderking teased. The crown fits perfectly on her golden curls, Jeremy thinks.

"Thanks," he says. "Where exactly is he, by the way?"

"In the forest," Renee answers. "At his old warehouse. He's planned a date. He said to tell you-" Renee coughs to hide a smile,"better shower and dress up for him or else, Knox."

Jeremy's face heats, and he thanks the women in a strangled voice before escaping upstairs. 

His old room has been tidied up, clearly Jean's handiwork. His bags are packed, ready to be thrown into Jeremy's Toyota. The thought sends a thrill through Jeremy. Jean was coming with him. Jean was going to be a Trojan.

He showers and dresses quickly, wears a bit of cologne as an afterthought, and all but races out of the door. Only after he nears the warehouse does he start overthinking. 

This was their first official date. Should he have brought flowers? Alcohol? Condoms?

The sky is lit up with a fool moon, and Jean is lying on a blanket, stargazing. The sight makes Jeremy's heart leap. Jean is no longer just a monochrome wisp of smoke. His bruises have faded in the span of one month, and he's so handsome that Jeremy can't bear to look at him for too long. He lies down next to the man and looks up at the sky.

A hand slides into his. Jeremy laces his fingers through Jean's. 

"You're not having second thoughts, are you?" Jeremy says in a small voice. He looks at Jean, who's looking right back at him.

"Jeremy," he says. Jer-Mee. Jeremy can't look away from Jean's mouth.

"I'm trying to romance you out under the stars," he continues. "Tonight, we'll share the same bed. Tomorrow, we'll go to USC, together. Next week, I'll start training as one of yours. What part of that looks like having second thoughts, hm?"

Jeremy shivers at his words. "I want it," he whispers. "I want all of it, I want you, Jean."

Jean rolls over and places his elbows on the sides of Jeremy's head, his body a warm weight on Jeremy. "I want you too, you cabbage. How has that slipped your notice?"

In answer, Jeremy surges up and kisses him. Jean smirks into the kiss. He looks awfully smug, doesn’t he? Jeremy rolls his hips, and Jean almost loses his balance.

"Jeremy!" he admonishes but rolls his own hips in retaliation. They gasp into each other's mouth. Jeremy squirms impatiently, reaching up to tug Jean's shirt up and off, then his own, then pants. 

Finally, Jeremy thinks dizzily, finally. 

Jean straddles him, eyes hooded with arousal. He all but throws a condom at Jeremy, who stares dumbly. Jean grins.

"Do you not know how to put it on, Knox?"

Jeremy splutters. "Of course I- But-? Are you sure? Don't you need-?"

Jean throws his head back and groans in frustration. "Give me your hand," he orders. When Jeremy obliges, Jean guides his fingers back, back, back-

"Oh," Jeremy says, brain short-circuiting. Jean is slick and loose. He'd obviously prepared for this exact eventuality, must've taken hours to prep in the shower, thinking about Jeremy. His cock jumps against Jean's thigh, eager.

Jeremy rolls on the condom with shaky hands, and then clutches at Jean's hips as he position's Jeremy's cock. Slowly, oh so, slowly, he lowers himself. 

It's not that Jeremy's never had sex, but this is Jean. Jean who's been stubborn and selfless the whole time Jeremy's known him. Jean who Jeremy has wanted for months, even when he didn’t have a body. Jean who wants Jeremy back. Against the stars, Jean looks as unreal as a fever dream.

_You're the love of my life_ , Jeremy thinks.

Jean keeps up a desperate rhythm, a little out of sync, as if he hasn’t settled quite right in his skin yet. Jeremy tightens his muscles and flips them over, looking down at Jean's eyes blown wide. He picks up Jean's ankles and places them on his shoulders.

"I'll take care of you," Jeremy tells him. "Let me take care of you, sweetheart." 

Jean groans at the endearment, reaching out with a hand. Jeremy leans down and buries his head in Jean's neck.

The changed angle does wonders for Jean. The first thrust sends him arching into Jeremy, desperately rolling his hips for more. 

"Again, again, good, ahh."

His hands clutch at Jeremy's hair in a sweet pain-pleasure. His cock is hard and leaking against Jeremy's stomach. Jeremy wraps a hand around it, loving it when Jean gasps in his ear.

He strokes Jean with a sure hand. He loves the feel of it, thinks he'd love it in his mouth sometime soon. Jean is close, his breath coming in short gasps against Jeremy's skin. "Come, sweetheart, don’t you wanna come for me?" Jeremy says, nipping at Jean's tender earlobe.

Jean's hips jerk. "Yes," he cries out, spilling hot on Jeremy's hand. His inner muscles grip Jeremy's cock, and he succumbs to the orgasm that's been coiling at the base of his spine.

For a few long minutes, there aren’t any sounds except their heavy breaths, loud heartbeats and the rustle of the forest around them.

"You took away half my pleasure today, Moreau," Jeremy whispers against Jean's lips. "Next time, I'm using my mouth to loosen you up."

Jean curses in French, something about a filthy mouth. Jeremy laughs and rolls over to look at the stars.

Everything is perfect. 

(Of course, this isn’t the end.

They'll learn to live with each other. They'll fight, they'll make up. They'll be back in Fairfold to visit their friends. The world will keep on going. Maybe they'll make it to the National Team. Maybe they'll get married, who knows? 

For them, this is just the beginning.) 

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> The day I got Finn/solelystarling’s prompt, I never thought this fic would be this huge, honest. I’d planned to leave this at 15k, 20k at best. But as always, over the months the fic grew a mind of its own. And I honestly can’t thank Finn enough for coming up with such a clever prompt and letting me do things to it that could’ve gone very wrong.  
> I’m blessed, absolutely blessed to have had Makebelieveanything/Madison’s help with the beta. I’m absolutely shite at grammar and finding plot holes so without this very much needed help I would’ve produced something cringe worthy, no doubt. As I wrote this fic, I was also (still am) going through a very bad time of my life, not quite rock bottom but close, and without Madison’s cheer and support and late night conversations, I prolly would’ve done something terrible, like abandoning the fic halfway. But I didn’t! And this fic is at least 40% their credit.  
> Gluupor and ViridianJane, thank you, for the no doubt sleepless nights you spent managing this big bang.  
> Right then! I hope you enjoyed this! Come find me at tumblr, I’m andreil-minyasten!


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